


Because You're My Best Friend

by WolfRune20855



Series: Spencer/Darcy Stories [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, But only after a fair amount of angst, But they bond, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Darcy is Jewish, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, I’m here for happy endings, Pride and Prejudice references galore, Rating May Change, Seriously heavy on the angst, Slow Burn, Spencer's mom is married to Darcy's dad for like five seconds, This pairing deserves more works, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRune20855/pseuds/WolfRune20855
Summary: Spencer Reid is ten years old when Darcy Lewis enters his life. From that point on, nothing in Spencer’s life is ever simple.~An AU where Spencer and Darcy grow up together and very slowly fall in love.





	1. A Truth Universally Acknowledged

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as I should be working on school and original projects, but instead I'm invested in this totally imagined relationship. Darcy/Spencer. I low-key love this relationship and there need to be more fics about these two. This started out as a one-shot, but it quickly got out of hand and I wanted to switch POVs. Anyways, Spencer will have odd chapters and Darcy will have even. 
> 
> For the sake of this story, they are 5 years apart in age. Spencer was born in 1984 and Darcy in 1989. 
> 
> I will not be staying true to either of the canon timelines. Some things from both the MCU and Criminal Minds will never happen. Some things will happen earlier or later than they actually do. Don’t worry, though. Darcy will still work for Jane and Spencer will still join the BAU. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Spencer Reid is eight years old when his father leaves his mother. He stands in the doorway, spouting fact after fact in an attempt to convince his father that staying is in all of their best interests.

It doesn’t work.

His father leaves, and, for a brief period of time, his mother moves on. She smiles at Spencer, trying to put on a positive front, to convince both of them that she’s not broken and that he’s not alone. For a brief period of time, it works.

Spencer Reid is ten years old when his mother gets remarried. He’s met Mr. Lewis once before. He’s nice, even if he’s a little bit weird. Then again, Spencer and his mom are weird too. Maybe weird is what his mother needs.

The wedding is nice. From everything that Spencer has read, it's very low budget, with just a Justice of the Peace. It’s not like it’s hard to find one of those in Vegas. There’s a small party at their house with a handful of his mom’s colleagues and Mr. Lewis’s friends afterward. Spencer watches his mom cut the Walmart cake with a smile. Maybe, things are finally looking up.

As his mom feeds Mr. Lewis, a small girl with wild brown hair catches his eye. She’s sitting in the corner watching the couple with skepticism. A frown mars her smooth face. Pushing out of the doorway, Spencer wanders over to her--partly because she’s the only other child at the wedding and partly because he already knows who she is: Darcy Lewis, his new stepsister.

Spencer sits on the couch next to her, careful to avoid ruffling her skirts. Most girls he knows don’t like ruffled skirts. At least, the ones in books don’t. The ones he goes to school with coo at him, thinking that he’s cute because he’s so much younger than them. Or they pick on him. That’s if they pay attention to him at all.

“I’m Spencer,” Spencer says.

Darcy stares at him through slitted eyes. She’s only five, but she’s intimidating. For a moment, Spencer wonders if she can read his thoughts. He quickly shakes off the idea. That’s impossible. Based off of the recent report he read on Mutants, she displays no signs of evolutionary jumps. She is simply normal.

A normal, pouting, intimidating five-year-old girl.

“I know,” says Darcy, frowning.

“You’re name’s Darcy.” Spencer has no idea why he says this. It’s obvious. She knows that he’s Spencer and he knows that she’s Darcy. They’re siblings now.

“I know.”

“Like Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Darcy’s frown deepens. “Who?”

Glad to have something to explain to his new stepsister, Spencer jumps over the back of the couch and grabs his mother’s copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ off of the nearest shelf. Tumbling back over the couch, Spencer drops the book into Darcy’s hands. She stares down at it in wonder.

“Can you read?” Spencer asks, realizing that someone as young and normal as Darcy may not be able to read at the same level as him.

“Of course I can read.” Darcy opens the book, peering at the first page as if it is written another language. “I read _Amelia Bedelia_ every night.”

“This is a little bit harder than that.”

“I know.”

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He ruffles Darcy’s dress, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Maybe, she doesn’t mind as much as the girls he reads about. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Hesitantly, Darcy hands the book back to him, watching him for a reaction. Spencer doesn’t give her one. He’s been reading about microexpressions recently, and he’s trying to control his own--so that no one around him ever knows what he’s thinking. He’s pretty good at it too.

Spencer cracks open the spine, smiling at the sound the pages make as he flips through them. He’s never read _Pride and Prejudice,_ only had it read to him, so he doesn’t know every word by heart yet.

He takes a deep breath, and begins, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” He continues to read, ignoring as Darcy snuggles into his side and closes her eyes. She doesn’t fall asleep, she just listens with her eyes shut tightly, ignoring the party around them.

When the reception is finished and the night has ended, his mother peels them apart and Mr. Lewis carries a sleeping Darcy to her bedroom. Spencer tucks the worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ under his arm and promises himself that he will read the rest to Darcy.

He does.

He reads the entire book to Darcy. By the time that he comes to the last page, he doesn’t want the book to end. He wants more--he wants to make up more--but he’s never had much of an imagination. His mind is made for memorizing facts and regurgitating them. It’s Darcy who has the imagination. She’s the one who forces him to play Jane and Lizzie for the next three weeks. Although, _forces_ may be the wrong word.

They have only been living under the same roof for a month, and Spencer already knows that he would do anything for her. All she has to do is ask.

Slowly, the Lewis’s and the Reids become a family. They eat family dinners and go on a road trip in the summer of 1995. They celebrate Christmas and Rosh Hashanah together. They talk about their days at school and watch Saturday morning cartoons. For one magnificent year, everything is ordinary. Normal. Almost picture perfect.

Spencer should have realized that it was too good to last.

Darcy waits for him every day after school. The elementary school is released half an hour before the high school, and Darcy doesn’t want to walk home by herself. At least, that’s what she tells Spencer. He knows that she could do it. She’s tough and smart, even if she’s a bit jumpy. But she waits for him, and that makes him feel good--it makes him feel special in a different way--not because of his memory but because she cares enough to wait.

They’re walking home from school together one day when a group of neighborhood kids--Peter, and Justin, and Ken--step into their path. Spencer freezes. He’s used to Peter picking on him, but not around Darcy. He usually leaves Darcy out of it, which Spencer knows is because she reminds him of his own sister, who ran away from home three years ago.

Peter usually leaves Darcy out of it, but he doesn’t this time.

“If it isn’t the freak,” Peter spits on Spencer, who schools his expression. Peter wants a reaction, and Spencer refuses to give him one.

But Darcy does. “What did you call my brother?”

“Stepbrother,” Spencer mutters under his breath because he’s used to correcting Darcy on the subject. She makes the mistake of calling him her _brother_ a lot.

“He’s a freak.” Peter stares down at Darcy, who is tiny even though she just turned six. “You should be happy that your dad is divorcing his freak mom. You’re better off without him.”

Normally, Spencer wouldn’t listen to a word that Peter says, but his dad is a lawyer and he handled Spencer’s parents’ divorce. “What?” Spencer asks because he wants to _know._

“Yeah. He finally got some sense knocked into him. Looks like they’re gonna leave your ass, just like your loser father.”

“That’s not true!”

It’s Darcy who throws the first punch, and Spencer should have seen it coming. Her fists hit Peter’s chest and he reacts instantly, pushing her to the ground. Spencer reacts without thinking and throws himself inbetween Darcy and Peter and his goons. They’re saved minutes later by the janitor but Spencer’s lip is bleeding and his cheek is cut open.

Mr. Lewis stares at him with disappointment. “What happened?” he asks after Spencer has been patched up by the nurse.

“Nothing.”

Mr. Lewis turns to Darcy. “Darcy…why did Spencer start a fight with those boys?”

That’s all that Spencer need to hear to know that Peter was telling the truth. Mr. Lewis wants to believe Peter over Spencer, he trusts Peter’s dad over Spencer’s mom. They’re getting a divorce. He doesn’t know when, but he knows that it’s incoming. It’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of time.

“He was helping me.”

That night, Darcy sneaks into his room and lies down beside him. “Was Peter right?” she whispers in the dark.

Spencer can’t bring himself to tell her the truth--to break her heart the way his heart is broken. “Of course not. Peter’s a philistine. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Darcy smiles. “Good. I never want to lose you.”

“Neither do I.”

Spencer is four days away from turning twelve when his mom and Mr. Lewis get divorced. The papers are signed and they sit their respective children down to explain to them that they just “don’t love each other anymore.” It’s a load of crap, in Spencer’s opinion. His mom might not love Mr. Lewis anymore, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love Darcy--that he doesn’t love his stepsister.

“Besides,” says his mom, “you’ll start taking college classes soon. Won’t that be fun?”

 _Not as fun as living with Darcy,_ Spencer thinks. _It won’t be as fun as listening to her rant about her friends and teachers or explaining to her how the world works. It won't be as fun as watching her break into a fit of giggles, knowing that he brought that smile to her face. It won’t be fun. Period._

But he doesn’t say any of this--because his mom doesn’t need his negativity. She needs him to support her, even if it means losing his favorite family member. Even if that means losing his best friend.

Spencer gulps. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun.”

It doesn’t.

Darcy sneaks into his room that night. She crawls under the covers beside him, not caring about his personal space or the fact that he doesn’t like other people touching him. Then again, those rules have never applied to Darcy.

“I don’t want to go,” Darcy whispers in the dark, holding his hand in a death-grip. Her eyes glisten in the moonlight, damp with tears that she’s trying so hard to hold back. “You said that Peter was wrong.”

“I know.” Spencer squeezes her hand, wrapping his available arm around her and holding her as tightly as he can. He doesn’t want to lose her. “I know, Darcy.”

“Tell me a story.”

Spencer stares down at her with shock. He has never been much of a storyteller. He’s not creative or imaginative. But Darcy asks him for a story, so he tells her one.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

She cries herself to sleep in her arms that night, and Spencer wants nothing more than to make it stop--than to make her smile again--but he can’t. So, he tells her a story. He tells her what he has come to consider their story: _Pride and Prejudice._ For just a moment, he almost sees her smile.

Spencer Reid turns twelve the day that Mr. Lewis and Darcy leave. His mom doesn’t even notice.


	2. Middle School Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back with a much longer chapter than expected. Enjoy.

Darcy Lewis is nine years old when she realizes that her father is a serial monogamist. She reads about it in a book that she checked out at the library. She’s been spending a lot of time there since her dad moved them to California on marriage number four.

The last wife--Stacey--was nice, but Darcy would’ve hated her even if her father hadn’t. She wasn’t Diana Reid. She didn’t come with the added bonus of Spencer.

This new one is different. Her name is Elizabeth, and, even though she’s only been Mrs. Lewis for three weeks, Darcy feels sorry for her. She knows what’s going to happen to her. Her father will break it off, divorce her, and move onto another woman--in search of another replacement for her mother.

 _He’s a serial monogamist,_ Darcy thinks to herself. Or something like that. _Spencer would know._

He’s at the California Institute of Technology now. She knows this because they talk on the phone every Friday night, when her dad and Elizabeth have their date night (if he’s in town). Darcy is so tempted to jump on a bus and never come back. It’s not like her dad would miss her anyways. He’s too busy with his work, and his marriage, and scrutinizing everyone around him to notice her missing.

She saves up her allowance for weeks until she has enough to buy a bus ticket to Caltech. She packs the book about relationships into her rainbow butterfly schoolbag and purchases a ticket. She leaves the city early one Saturday morning while her dad’s out of town. Elizabeth is busy and won’t notice that she’s gone. Nobody will notice her disappearance.

 _Spencer would,_ Darcy thinks to herself. The thought makes her sad. The only person who would report her missing has been kicked out of her life.

Pasadena is four hours away from San Diego. She knows that the ride is dangerous. She can hear Spencer in the back of her mind spouting kidnapping and human trafficking statistics. But she’s careful. She keeps her head down and avoids detection. She steals Elizabeth’s bear spray and clutches it in her hand the whole trip.

Spencer opens the door and stares down at her, clearly shocked. “What are you doing here?”

Darcy frowns, glancing up at her once-brother and current-best-friend. He’s changed. He’s taller--scrawnier. He’s different. And yet, he’s still wearing those dorky, broken glasses that are too big for his face.

“You cut your hair.” Darcy pushes into his dorm room, taking in the bare walls and the bookshelves filled to the brim with books. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry--it doesn’t matter to Spencer. He devours it all.

“I know.” Spencer closes the door behind her. “Did you come here alone, Darce? That’s seriously unsafe. One in three runaways is kidnapped or forced into…” He trails off, gulping as he realizes that whatever statistics he was about to spout aren’t appropriate for a nine-year-old girl.

“I didn’t run away, Spence.” Darcy drops her bag onto the ground before collapsing onto Spencer’s bed. “I’m just here for the weekend.”

“Your father-”

“Won’t even notice that I’m missing.” Darcy sighs. She sits up, studying Spencer. He shifts nervously as if he is unsure how to handle the situation. Knowing him, he probably is. Darcy reaches out, grabs his hand and pulls him down beside her. “Besides, I brought protection.” She grabs the bear spray out of her bag and hands it to him. “Bear spray.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “How did you get this? You can’t buy it--you’re too young.”

“Elizabeth’s into camping.” Darcy falls back down at the comforter and stares up at the ceiling. “She keeps trying to get us to go on a ‘family camping trip’ but Dad threw all of her gear in the attic. I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Spencer nods.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Relax, Spence. Nobody’s going to miss me. Nobody ever does.”

“I miss you.”

Spencer speaks so quietly that Darcy wonders if she was supposed to hear him. His words bring a smile to her face. Spencer misses her. He misses living down the hall from her. Maybe, he misses her as much as she misses him. _Wouldn’t that be a miracle?_

“I miss you too,” Darcy says. Her eyes trace over the dots of his popcorn ceiling. Spencer flops down beside her. Darcy glances towards him, meeting his eyes. “My dad--is he a serial monogamist?”

Spencer frowns. “I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose that he is--although he seems to be more focused on the wedding than his relationships. He’s constantly getting married, and immediately placing the women he marries under a microscope. It’s almost as if-”

“He’s trying to replace my mother,” Darcy finishes for him. Spencer nods. “Yeah. I figured that one out with Stacey. She didn’t really like me. She was a kindergarten teacher, but she didn’t want to have kids. She always talked to me like I was one of her students.”

“I’m sorry.”

Darcy shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“On the contrary, it does. It matters a lot. Children who grow up in one-parent households are at a higher risk for future drug addiction and failure. That’s only heightened when the household is unstable.”

Darcy’s face falls. Spencer’s always been a fact machine and he’s told her this particular piece of information a couple of times. This time, though, it really hits her. She’s a statistic. She’s a number on a chart in a book that Spencer reads. She sits up abruptly.

Spencer places a hand on her shoulder as he sits up. “Hey. Hey. I’m not saying that’s going to happen to you, Darce. I just-”

“I’m a statistic,” Darcy says.

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

Spencer grimaces at her words. “We both have only one parent. If you’re a statistic, then so am I.”

Darcy laughs bitterly. “You’re not a statistic, Spencer. You’re a genius.”

“I am,” Spencer agrees, “but there are a lot of geniuses in the world. Two-point-two percent of the population has an IQ over 140. That’s a lot of people. But there’s only one Darcy Lewis in the world.”

A smile tugs at Darcy’s lips. “There is.”

“Well, I mean, statistically speaking-”

“Spencer,” Darcy cuts him off.

“Yeah?”

“You were on the right track.” Darcy leans her head against his shoulder. “I know there’s more than one Darcy Lewis in the world. I’m nine, not stupid.”

“I never said you were. What matters is that you’re my Darcy Lewis. You’re my best friend.”

Darcy grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, genius. You’re my best friend too.”

“That’s good.” Spencer ruffles Darcy’s hair, causing her to push him away.

“Hey!” Her hair is already messy enough naturally. She doesn’t need Spencer’s help messing it up more. “Don’t do that!”

“Okay,” Spencer relents easily, raising his hands in surrender. She jumps up, ruffling his hair, which isn’t nearly as fun as it was when he had long hair. “Darcy!”

“Your short hair is stupid,” Darcy exclaims, “You should grow it out.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“I can understand sarcasm, _Spencer_. I’m serious.”

“Okay.” Spencer chuckles. “Darcy,” there’s a serious note in his voice, “You can come here whenever you want. Just promise me that you won’t take the bus anymore.”

“What am I supposed to do instead? Ride the train?”

“Ask your dad or Elizabeth to take you,” says Spencer. “Just promise me that you won’t take the bus. If something happened to you because you were coming to visit me…” His eyes go distant as he retreats to his mind, coming up with some imaginary scenario where Darcy has no doubt she is brutally murdered. _He needs to stop reading so many crime reports,_ she thinks _._

“Okay. Fine. Whatever. I promise. I’ll ask Elizabeth. She’s always trying to get me to spend more time with my friends.”

Spencer grins. Darcy can’t help but grin back.

Spencer takes the bus home with her that Sunday then catches it back to Pasadena. After that, Elizabeth starts driving her up every weekend. Darcy thinks Elizabeth is grateful for the break from her high-energy step-daughter. She gets the house all by herself. Darcy thinks she’s having an affair, but it doesn’t matter to her. Not so long as she gets to crash at Spencer’s every weekend.

She sits in the front seat, clutching her overnight bag with a smile on her face. Spencer is one of the only things that make her smile these days.

Darcy is ten years old when her theory is proven right: Elizabeth is sleeping with the pool guy.

_What. A. Cliche._

Her dad divorces Elizabeth, but they stay in town for his job, which means that Darcy continues to spend the weekends at Spencer’s, only now he picks her up. The moment Spencer turns sixteen, he gets his license. Her dad buys him a beat-up car as a thank-you-for-keeping-an-eye-on-Darcy present.

Sometimes, they explore the town together. Other times, Darcy sits on the floor of his room reading _Nancy Drew_ books while Spencer works on his homework. It doesn’t matter to her what they’re doing. All that matters is that he wants her around and that they’re together.

Darcy is eleven when she and Spencer watch the ball drop on New Years. She turns to Spencer and says, “It’s 2000.”

“A new millennium,” Spencer agrees.

Her dad’s at a work party.

Four days before her twelfth birthday, Darcy meets Justin Britt. He’s new to her school, and very, very cute--in a tween boyband sort of way. He’s got dazzling eyes and a one hundred watt smile, and it takes Darcy all of five minutes to fall in love with him.

Her science textbook falls out of her locker just as he’s walking by. Brandi Summers, one of the most popular girls in seventh grade is giving him a tour of the school. Justin bends down to pick it up at the same time as her--it’s the perfect meet-cute moment.

“I believe this is yours,” he says in a southern drawl, offering Darcy her textbook. Darcy’s pulse races. Her heart stutters.

“Yes--I mean--Yeah--it’s mine.” Darcy stands at the same time as him. He’s only an inch or two taller than her--he doesn’t tower over her like Spencer does. And he’s really cute. Darcy gulps. “Thanks.”

“What’s your name?” asks Justin.

“Darcy. Like Mr. Darcy from _Pride and Prejudice._ ”

_Lord, she sounds like an idiot. Why couldn’t she have a cool name like Brandi?_

Justin nods. “I’m Justin.”

“Like Justin Timberlake,” Darcy says automatically.

Justin grins. “Yeah. Like Justin Timberlake.”

“Come on, Justin.” Brandi loops her arm through Justin’s. “I’ve still got to show you the choir room. I’m in the top choir.”

Darcy didn’t even try out for the choir.

“That’s cool,” says Justin. He winks at Darcy. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy melts.

Every time he passes her in the hallway after that, he calls her _Mr. Darcy_ , which Darcy simultaneously hates and loves. She wants a normal name--a cool name--but at least he remembers her’s.

“But you like your name,” Spencer says when she complains about it one weekend. “Your mom gave it to you.”

Darcy has to admit that it’s true. For a long time, she liked her name. It’s one of the only things that her mom ever gave her. Growing up, whenever she was missing her mother she would write her name over and over and over again. The wall of her closet is filled with her name written in sharpie and pencil and crayon.

“But it’s not cool like Brandi.”

Justin hangs out with Brandi outside of school. He eats lunch with her. All that Darcy ever gets are nods in the hallway and Justin asking for her help in their shared social studies class.

She can feel Spencer examining her, and she plops down on the sofa in his tiny appartment. He moved off-campus when he started his doctorate, and now he rides his bike everywhere. He only uses the car her dad bought him to pick her up.

He’s taller too. He towers over her in a way that makes her feel small and insignificant. She knows that he doesn’t mean to, but he does. It’s hard having a seventeen-year-old genius as your best friend. Nobody at school gets why Darcy spends so much time at Spencer’s.

Nobody except Justin.

She told him about Spencer, and he thought that he sounded cool. Spencer, on the other hand, is wary of Justin. He hasn’t said anything bad about him, but Darcy knows that he doesn’t like Justin. She can see it in his eyes.

“Your name is great, Darcy. You shouldn’t want to change it--especially not because of some boy.”

Darcy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t understand. You’re not normal.” She regrets the words the moment that they leave her mouth.

Spencer’s face closes off, shutting down as he refuses to give her a reaction. Darcy hates it when he does this. It means that she’s hurt him.

“Spencer. I didn’t mean-”

“You’re right,” Spencer says, “I’m not normal.”

“But that’s not a bad thing.” Darcy scrambles to fix the injury she’s caused. She can’t lose Spencer. He’s the only person who's ever cared about her. “I like that you’re different. You’re extraordinary.”

A smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. “Thanks, Darce.”

Darcy grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I knew you couldn’t be mad at me forever. It’s impossible. I’m too cute.”

“Cuteness has nothing to do with it.”

Darcy grins. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Spence. Maybe if you say it enough time it’ll come true.”

Spencer rolls his eyes in response.

The summer after seventh grade, Justin Britt invites Darcy to his swim party. He lives in the same neighborhood as her and invites half of the grade, but all that matters to Darcy is that she is on the list.

Darcy wears a one piece, covered up by a t-shirt and shorts. She doesn’t take them off. She’s started to develop--to go through puberty--and both her dad and Spencer tried to give her the talk. She listened to her dad and immediately shut Spencer down. The last thing she needed was statistics on teenage pregnancy and the science behind menstruation from the genius who remembers everything he reads.

Brandi Summers wear a bikini. Justin Britt says ‘hi’ to Darcy and actually talks to her. They sit beside the grill as his dad makes hot dogs, and Darcy wonders what it’s like to have a normal family like Justin. Normal is so cool.

Spencer takes her camping that summer. They travel to Yosemite for a week and study trees, and bugs, and birds. They go hiking together and it’s the best experience of Darcy’s summer.

Her dad gets remarried in August. This one’s name is Lisa. Darcy wonders how long it’s going to last.

When school starts, Darcy tries out for the school musical because Justin Britt does. He gets the lead while she lands in the chorus. They still smile at each other--talk on the walk home.

“You’re a really cool girl, Darcy,” Justin says one afternoon on their walk home. He bumps his shoulder against hers, smiling at her in a flirty way.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Justin nods. “You’re not like other girls.”

Darcy doesn’t know what that means, but she feels like it’s a good thing. If she’s not like other girls, then that means that she’s special. She wants to be special to someone.

Justin halts in the middle of the sidewalk. Grabbing her hand, he turns her around to that they are face to face. Suddenly, he leans forward and kisses her. As his lips brush against hers, Darcy’s pulse spikes. Her heart jumps in her chest. Then, just as soon as it started, the kiss is over. Justin pulls away and smiles sheepishly.

“You’re cool, Darcy. I like that.” With those words, Justin retreats up his driveway and disappears into his house.

Darcy is in heaven.

Darcy is thirteen and it's the closing night of the show. Her dad is out of town, so he can’t come, but Lisa and Spencer do. After she peels off her costume and wipes the makeup from her face, she races to congratulate Justin. When she steps out of the bathroom, he’s standing in the center of the cafeteria with an arm around Brandi Summers’s shoulders.

That’s when Darcy hears Madison from Props say, “Brandi and Justin finally made it official. He even gave her a promise ring.”

Darcy freezes. _He gave her a promise ring._ He’s never given Darcy a promise ring. He’s never given Darcy anything...except for a kiss. Why’d he kiss her if her liked Brandi? Why’d he say that she was cool?

“Darcy.” Lisa places a hand on her shoulder, startling Darcy out of her thoughts.

Her cheeks are wet as hot tears stream down her face. How could she be so stupid? Of course, a boy like Justin would never like someone like her. Muttering her pathetic excuses, Darcy pulls away from Lisa, racing towards the nearest exit.

The doors bang shut behind her as Darcy finds herself surrounded by the brisk November air. Everybody is still inside congratulating the actors. The tears are coming faster as she gasps for air, trying to calm her nerves. She can’t see the world around her. All that she knows is that she wasn’t enough for Justin Britt. She wasn’t cool enough or pretty enough. She wasn't enough. Again.

Two arms wrap around her, engulfing her in a hug. Darcy inhales the scent of ink and paper and Walmart brand cologne: Spencer. She cries into his oxford, staining his shirt with her tears.

“That’s good,” Spencer murmurs. “Let it out.” She’s expecting a speech on puberty--on how her heightened emotions are natural--but instead, he says, “He’s an asshole. He’s not worth your time.”

“I’m not enough,” Darcy says between sobs.

Spencer pulls back. His hands grip her shoulders as he stares at her, shocked. “Of course you’re enough. You’re perfect. Who's the genius here?”

"You."

"Exactly. I'm much smarter than that idiot. You are more than enough, Darcy." He shakes his head and pulls her back to her chest. Darcy wraps her arms around him, sinking into the hug. “If he can’t see that, then screw him. Darcy’s a great name.”

He holds her until she stops crying, and, when she is done, he takes her to get ice cream--his treat. For a few short hours, while she’s with Spencer, Darcy forgets all about Justin Britt.

_Darcy really is a great name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think. Don't forget to leave kudos if you like the work.


	3. Eighteen Going On Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter of this keeps getting longer and longer. Thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments. Your comments provide a lot of encouragement, even though I never know how to correctly respond to them. Also, I’m currently working on a Darcy/Spencer Downton Abbey AU so keep an eye out for that. This pairing really needs more stories. Enjoy!

Spencer Reid is eighteen years old when he makes the hardest decision of his life. His mom is sick, he reasons. She’s mentally ill. She could harm herself--she could harm the people around her--and he’s not going to be around forever. He’s doing the right thing.

That doesn’t make it any easier.

He gets drunk that night. For the first time in his life, he gets drunk. He shouldn’t do it--he knows it’s illegal and it does more harm than good--but he just wants to stop thinking. He wants to forget the look of betrayal on his mom’s face when he told her that this was his decision--when he let those men take her away.

So, Spencer unlocks the liquor cabinet and pulls out his mom’s bottle of scotch. It was a gift from a student who got into Harvard thanks to her letter of recommendation. He’s only seen her drink it a handful of times.

Sitting alone in his empty childhood home, Spencer pours himself a drink, and another one, and another one, until the bottle is nearly empty. And he cries. He sobs, letting the tears roll down his face. He lets every emotion that he’s been bottling up since his dad left come pouring out. And it helps.

The week he sends his mother away, Darcy calls and tells him that she won’t be able to make it that weekend. She has a sleepover at her friend Sarah’s house. There’s a note of regret in her voice, but Spencer lets out a sigh of relief after she hangs up. Her friend Sarah made the decision for him--he doesn’t have to choose between the two most important people in his life anymore.

In the following weeks, he visits her, attempting to make himself feel less guilty about locking her up. It doesn’t work. He feels like the worst son on the planet.

 _It was the right thing to do,_ he reminds himself every time he sees his mother--every time he steps foot inside her empty home. It’s hard to take time off of his dissertation to visit her, but he does, which means that he starts seeing less of Darcy on the weekends. Well, technically, she starts seeing less of him.

When Darcy starts calling every week with a new reason why she can’t spend the weekend in Pasadena, Spencer begins to notice. First Sarah’s sleepover, then a really big test, then a party at Kendall’s house, then she’s having bonding time with her dad and Lisa, then she’s busy working on a project, then she’s going roller skating with some theater kids (she stuck with it after the whole Justin Britt incident, but moved to costume design where’s she’s much happier).

Spencer picks up the phone in the middle of March, knowing who’s on the other end of the line and what she’s going to say. “Hey, Darcy.”

“Spencer,” Darcy sounds happy--excited--maybe even a little bit relieved, like she doubted he would answer the phone. “How’s the doctorate going? Are you writing all the doctorish things?”

Spencer chuckles. _It’s just like Darcy to describe his dissertation as doctorish._ The thought brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, Darce. I’m writing all the doctorish things.”

“And those classes that you’re teaching?” Darcy asks. “Have you met any cute girls? Maybe a freshman who’s your age and nerdy.”

Even though Darcy can’t see him, Spencer shakes his head. “That would be highly inappropriate. Not to mention against the rules.”

“It happens all the time, Spence,” Darcy says, “I watch television. Buffy’s dating Riley even though he was her TA.”

“From what I remember, Buffy also dated a 200-year-old vampire. None of Buffy’s relationships are what one would call ‘healthy.’” He doesn’t want Darcy to get the wrong idea. She’s just experienced her first real heartbreak. She could easily fall prey to a predatory teacher. _She’s always looking for love and approval,_ Spencer thinks.

“Yeah, but she’s so cool,” Darcy says. “I mean, she’s the vampire slayer. I would kill to be the vampire slayer.”

“Darcy-”

“Not actually kill, Spencer. Don’t be so uptight.” He can imagine Darcy shaking her head on the other end of the phone. “I was going to be her for the Halloween Party, but I don’t have blonde hair. I guess I could’ve been Faith, but she’s mean.”

And if there’s one thing that Darcy’s not, it’s mean. Strong-willed? Yes. Independent? Yes. But not mean.

“You looked good as Hermione Granger though.”

“Yeah.” Darcy sighs. “And so did everyone else with brown hair. And even a couple with blonde.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Anyways, I was just calling to let you know that I won’t be able to come this weekend. Kendall’s birthday party is this weekend and I can’t miss it.”

Spencer’s heart sinks. He knew that it was coming--that Darcy would make some excuse to avoid him--but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. He supposes that it’s natural for her to pull away from him, she’s five years younger than him and so much more normal. She picks up on social cues that he misses and is always ready with a joke. Nobody likes Spencer’s jokes. She’s the funny one; he’s the smart one.

And now neither of them are either one.

“You’ve already used that one,” Spencer says without thinking, because she has. The second time she skipped, she told him that one of her three close friends, Kendall, was having a party.

“I have?”

“Yes.” Spencer sighs. “Darcy, if you don’t want to see me, you can tell me. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

It’s a lie, and Spencer knows Darcy knows it, but she thankfully doesn’t say anything about it. “Look, Spence, I want to see you--I do--I’m just really busy. Y’know? Eighth grade is hard. I have a lot of homework and projects. You get what I’m saying?”

Spencer doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t really remember eighth grade. He thinks he might’ve tested out of it.

“Yeah.” Spencer gulps. “I understand. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Spencer,” Darcy’s voice is soft and almost stops Spencer from hanging up. _Almost._

He grips the landline in his hand and tries to steady his breathing. He knew that this would happen sooner or later. He knew that Darcy would stop wanting him around so much--stop sharing her secrets with him. He just didn’t know that it would happen so soon.

Three days later, Lisa calls.

“Spencer,” she says, “I know that you’ve been busy these past couple weeks, but her father and I are going out of town this weekend, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Darcy in the house by herself. Would you mind coming down for the weekend? I would bring her up to you, but we’re leaving Friday morning, and Darcy still has to go to school. Please, Spencer. I know that she’s a handful, but she really looks up to you. It’s been hard on her--not seeing you.”

Spencer’s breath catches in his throat. “Of course. I’d be happy too.” And it’s the truth. He’d be happy to see Darcy for a weekend. Visiting his mom only reminds him of his failures--of his possible schizophrenic future. Spending time with Darcy will be a good change of pace.

“Thank you,” says Lisa, “I owe you one. Isaac and I really need this weekend to work.”

 _Don’t bother,_ Spencer almost tells her. He knows as well as Darcy how this weekend is going to end--with Mr. Isaac Lewis filing for divorce. He’s spending less and less time between marriages and divorces now. It’s unhealthy--for him and for Darcy. Lisa was nice and she made an effort with Darcy. Spencer can only imagine what wife-number-six will be like.

“You have your key,” Lisa says, “Let yourself in. I’ll put something in the crockpot, and feel free to order pizza or go for burgers. Go for a movie if you want. Just put it on Isaac’s card.”

The next day, he lets himself into the house that he’s been in and out of for the past four years, visiting Darcy and occasionally talking to Mr. Lewis. _At least Darcy hasn’t had to move_ , he thinks to herself. That lowers the odds--makes her less of a statistic.

The smell of crockpot-chili hits him the moment he steps into the house. Lisa’s a very good cook, having trained at the cordon bleu and worked in some of the best restaurants in America. Spencer can cook, but never as good as her. Darcy burns everything that she touches and thinks that a glass of orange juice counts as a meal.

Darcy’s sitting at the kitchen table, her homework laid out in front of her. She glances at Spencer as he approaches and arches an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here?” She sounds hostile-yet-curious like she genuinely wants to know why he’s come yet doesn’t want him to be there. It makes Spencer’s heart sink.

“Lisa asked me to keep an eye on you this weekend.”

“Right. Of course.” Darcy nods curtly then returns to her homework.

Spencer takes the seat next to her. He glances over her shoulder, looking over the algebra homework that’s frustrating her. Darcy has never been that good at math--she’s better as history and social studies. “I can help you if you want,” he offers.

Darcy shakes her head. “No. It’s okay. I got it. You’re not my tutor.”

“I never said that I was.”

Darcy frowns as she makes a show of ignoring Spencer. He leans back in his chair and removes the sociology tests that he has to grade from his messenger bag. He begins marking them up with a red pen, rolling his eyes at how unbelievably stupid some of the students are. He knows that only about half of the students show up to the lecture on a given day--less if it’s a Friday. But these answers are as if they didn’t even read the textbook.

Frustrated, Darcy throws down her paper. She huffs and glares at Spencer. “How much are they paying you?”

“What?”

“My dad and Lisa. How much are they paying you to look after me? I mean, obviously, you have better things to do. You go to college, and everyone knows that college people go to parties. Kendall’s sister stopped talking to her after she went to college, but that’s normal. You’re doing your dissertation too, and, then, on top of that there’s your mom…” Darcy’s voice cracks.

Spencer blinks. He reaches out, resting his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. She refuses to meet his eyes. “Darcy, look at me.” Darcy’s blue-grey eyes raise, holding his. “They aren’t paying me anything. I want to spend time with you.”

“But your mom…”

“What about her?” Spencer fails to keep the defensive note from his tone.

“She’s sick. You should be spending time with her. Not with me.” She sounds small--unsure of herself--timid. That’s when Spencer realizes--

“Darcy, Kendall’s birthday party isn’t this weekend, is it?” Darcy shakes her head. “And all those other things--the project, ice cream with Isaac--what about them? Did they happen?”

“No,” Darcy murmurs.

Spencer nods in understanding. “You’ve been making up weekend activities so I wouldn’t have to choose between spending the weekend with you or visiting my mom, haven’t you?” Darcy stares down at her pink toenails, refusing to meet Spencer’s eyes. “Darcy.”

She sighs. “What do you want me to say, Spencer? Okay, yes, I made them up--all of them except the roller skating--because I knew that you would ignore her because of me, and I can’t have you do that. She’s your _mom._ She’s crazy, yeah, but I’d kill to have my mom--to be able to talk to her. You have that. You have _her._ ”

“I have you too.” Spencer fidgets with the bottom of his sweater vest. He glances down at the blue knit that his mom bought him. It’s starting to fray. “You know, I actually thought that you kept making excuses because you didn’t want to see me.”

“What? Spence, I would never do that.”

Spencer meets Darcy’s eyes. The golden light of the setting sun seems to make her irises change color. “We’re five years apart in age. We’re at two different points in our lives. We’re not even step-siblings anymore. It would be perfectly natural for you to want to spend more time with your friends, and even Lisa.”

“You’ve got to stop telling me what’s ‘natural.’” Darcy shakes her head. “I want you around. I just don’t want you to avoid your mom because of me.”

“I write her letters.” He writes her letters the weeks that he can’t handle visiting her--the weeks when he can’t bear the to face his betrayal.

“Take it from someone who gets plenty of postcards: a letter is not the same.”

“Neither is pretending to spend the weekend with your dad so that I leave you alone.”

Darcy groans. “I was doing the right thing, Spencer. Someday, you’ll see that.” Before Spencer can respond, she snaps shut her algebra textbook and stands. “Now, we’re going to Blockbuster to rent _Lord of the Rings._ I haven’t seen it since the theater release.”

Past of him want to question her—to return to the subject they were talking about moments before. Why would she think lying to him was the best option? What did he do to make her think that?

Instead, he says, “And we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t,” Darcy agrees wholeheartedly. She grabs his arm and pulls him out of the chair. “Let’s go, genius.”

That night they watch _Lord of the Rings_ and throw popcorn at each other. As Darcy giggle at the tv and gushes over Legolas, Spencer realizes something. The only time he’s ever felt like a kid--the only time he’s ever felt normal--is around Darcy.

He decides that he likes it.

The months pass by. Isaac files for divorce. Spencer spends his weekends alternating between visiting his mom and crashing at the Darcy’s. Lisa signs the papers. Darcy graduates from eighth grade. Isaac proposes to another woman--this one’s name is Heather--two months after his split from Lisa.

Darcy drags Spencer to see _Finding Nemo_ for her birthday. She tells him over salty mall pretzels that Heather thinks that she should try to be more popular. Spencer tells her to forget about Heather. She’ll be gone in a couple of months anyway. Darcy still lets Heather take her back-to-school shopping because she only buys designer brands.

Darcy’s grandfather from Alaska visits for a week. Hank Levin is a tough man, with a handlebar mustache who nicknames Spencer “String Bean” on account of how skinny he is. He hates Isaac Lewis, but likes Darcy--and to a further extent Spencer--enough to take them out for dinner at a fancy restaurant. He’s an oil-man who struck it rich and refuses to retire because God put him on this earth to work. He gives Spencer his number before he leaves, telling him to give him a call if he changes his mind about the FBI.

Spencer goes on a date with the cute girl from the pretzel stand. An honest to goodness _date_. Her name is Sara Conaway and she’s nice. She likes nerdy boys, which Spencer guesses means that he’s in luck. She doesn’t mind listening to his ramblings. Spencer thinks he might like her.

Darcy starts wearing makeup. Spencer asks her to show him how she applies it. He’s read about it in books but he’s never witnessed it done before. Darcy calls him a weirdo. She doesn’t mean it though, and she shows him anyways.

Spencer turns nineteen. A few of his college friends throw him a surprise party. Darcy comes. Sara brings him a cookie cake from the mall. It’s a pretty good birthday.

Isaac Lewis gets married.

Spencer is getting ready for a date with Sara to celebrate her birthday, when his phone rings. He frowns. Everyone who would call him knows that he’s going out tonight, which means that it can only be his mom’s care facility. Spencer’s stomach ties itself into knots as he reaches for the phone. Minutes pass by like hours as he picks it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Spencer Reid?” asks the voice on the other end of the line. It’s female--not his mom’s doctor. That’s good. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“Yes. I am.” _It’s probably telemarketers,_ he thinks. _Or people taking a survey._ Normally, he’d talk to then, but, “Look, I’m running late for a date. Can we-”

“My name is Anita Kirby. I’m a nurse at the Saint Mary Hospital in San Diego. I’m calling about Isaac Lewis and his daughter, Darcy.”

Spencer’s heart plummets. His mouth feels dry as he attempts to swallow. “What about them?”

“There’s been an accident. A hit-and-run.”

For a second, Spencer’s heart stops. His blood runs cold. “What happened? How is she?” The works are frantic--panicked--rushed.

Nurse Kirby takes a deep breath. “Sir, Mr. Lewis is currently in surgery. Darcy is unconscious. We’re monitoring her very closely. I’m calling because you’re listed as her emergency contact.” There’s a question there. Nurse Kirby is asking why Spencer, who’s totally unrelated to Darcy, would be listed as her emergency contact instead of her father or step-mother.

Spencer doesn’t answer.

“I’m coming.” It’s more of a promise to Darcy than the nurse.

“Mr. Reid-”

Spencer hangs up.

The drive to San Diego is the longest drive of his life. Four hours that usually fly by feel like an eternity. The familiar roads seem foreign in the dark. This isn’t another weekend with Darcy--this is something else.

 _It’s the end,_ his brain supplies. Spencer gulps. No. This isn't the end. It _can’t_ be the end. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s Darcy Lewis.

He pulls into the hospital parking lot at midnight. Slamming the car door shut, he races inside. “I’m Spencer Reid,” he says to the woman at the front desk, producing his driver’s license from his wallet as evidence. “I was called. There was a car wreck. My…” He trails off, unsure how to explain his situation in the short, fragmented sentences that his mouth keeps spitting out. “Darcy and Isaac Lewis. I’m here for-”

“Mr. Reid.” Spencer whirls around to find a short woman in bright pink scrubs. “I’m Anita Kirby. We talked on the phone.”

“Yes.” Spencer steps towards her. “How are they? Is everything okay?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Spencer freezes. _No. This can’t be--_

“Our surgeons tried their best, but there was too much damage to his heart and lungs. Mr. Lewis died in surgery.”

A weight lifts from Spencer’s chest and immediately guilt rushes in. Mr. Lewis is dead. Darcy has lost her father--she’s an orphan now--but, Spencer reasons, she’s not dead. He hasn’t lost _her_. He’s being selfish, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“And Darcy? What about her?”

“She’s sleeping at the moment, but she did awake for a few seconds earlier this afternoon. The doctor has high hopes for her recovery. I’ll take you to her.” Nurse Kirby gestures for her to follow him and he does. Dread grows in the pit of his stomach as they walk through the fluorescently-lit hallways of the hospital. Nurse Kirby stops him before a small room at the very end of the corridor. “Heather Lewis left as soon as she was informed of her husband’s death. I don’t think she’s coming back. Does Darcy have any other family that I should call?”

“She has a grandfather in Alaska,” Spencer says. “Her mom’s dad, I think. A former park ranger, if I’m remembering correctly.” DSpencer pulls out Hank Levin’s number from his wallet and hands it to Nurse Kirby. “This is his number.”

“Thank you.” Nurse Kirby retreats down the hallway and Spencer pushes inside the room.

Reruns of _ER_ are playing on the television that’s mounted in the corner of the room. An uncomfortable-looking chair rests beside the window, looking out at the dark sky. Spencer turns his gaze to the bed and halts in his tracks.

Darcy looks so pale and tiny in the hospital bed, appearing much younger than her fourteen years. A small bandage covers the very top of her forehead, hiding her stitches from view. Her arms are scraped up, decorated by a few fresh scabs. Her left arm is broken, set in a sling. Spencer’s heart leaps when she cracks an eye open and smiles faintly.

“What’re you doin’ here?” she asks groggily.

“The hospital called me. I’m still your emergency contact.”

“Oh. Right.” Spencer drags the chair up beside her bed. _He needs to tell Darcy about Mr. Lewis,_ he thinks. _She deserves to know the truth._ Before he gets the chance to, Darcy speaks, “We were going out for ice cream. Dad’s therapist wants him to spend more time with me--try to mend broken bridges, or something like that. This dude came speeding off of the highway. We didn’t see him coming.” Her eyes meet his. “I saw my dad after the car flipped...he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Slowly, Spencer nods.

Darcy gulps. “Right. Well, when the nurse didn’t come in, I expected it.” She laughs bitterly. “I should probably cry now. That’s the ‘natural’ thing to do, right? Cry.”

“Not crying can be a sign of denial,” Spencer offers.

“Or maybe I don’t know enough about him to miss him.” Her eyes widen with realization. “What happens now? I can’t live with Heather. She doesn’t want me. Not to mention, I don’t like her. I mean, she’s pretty and professional and all that, but she’s really heartless sometimes.” Darcy rambles on, and Spencer listens to her. She rambles when she’s nervous, and her uncertain future makes her nervous.

“Darcy, we’ll figure something out,” Spencer says when she pauses to take a breath. “Nurse Kirby is calling Hank right now. He’ll handle the funeral arrangements.”

Darcy nods. “Right. Right.” She reaches out and grabs Spencer’s hand in her own. She closes her eyes, whispering the words, “Tell me a story,” knowing exactly what story Spencer will tell her. He does.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that any man in possession of a good fortune must be in want-”

“Of a wife,” Darcy finishes for him.

Two days later, Hank Levin flies into San Diego. Spencer is glad that he’s there to remind Darcy that there are people in the world who care about her--people other than him. The following Friday, Isaac Lewis is buried. Darcy still doesn’t cry.

Spencer helps her sell the house. Heather’s moved back to her old apartment--having not yet sold the lease. Spencer helps Darcy pack up her room and rent a storage unit for the rest of the furniture. On August 29th, Spencer drives Darcy to the airport.

“You could crash at my place if you want to,” Spencer says for the thousandth time.

Darcy shakes her head. “No. I can’t...Hank wants to get to know me. I should let him--y’know, people die all the time. Especially old people.”

“I know.”

“Don’t die on me, Spence,” Darcy says. “And promise that you’ll come to visit for Christmas.”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Yeah, but you do, and you’re supposed to be with the people you love on Christmas. That’s me.”

Spencer chuckles. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

Darcy shrugs. “It’s the truth and we both know it.”

_She’s right, of course._

“I’ll come,” Spencer promises.

“Good.” Darcy jumps up, hugging him tightly. “I’ll hold you to it.” Spencer hugs her back. She breaks their hug, pulling away from him and vanishing in the TSA line. Spencer stands in the airport until he can no longer see her.

When Spencer Reid is nineteen, Darcy Lewis moves to Alaska, and he loses his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update soon. Don't forget to leave kudos and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading.


	4. Keep Your Friends Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is every chapter I write longer than I anticipated? Anyways, I told myself I would update within the week, and here it is six days later. The next chapter is going to be long, so you might have to wait a little longer than usual. On the plus side, chapter five is where you will finally meet some of your favorite Criminal Minds characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Darcy Lewis is fourteen years old when her father dies and she moves to Alaska to live with her grandfather. There’s a strange feeling in her chest as she steps off of the plane at the airport. It feels like she’s left a part of herself behind in California, and she has. Her dad and mom are both buried there, but, more importantly, that’s where Spencer lives.

 _Maybe she should’ve just stayed with him._ Darcy shakes her head. _No_. She doesn’t want to be a burden. Plus, she wasn’t lying when she told Spencer that she wanted to get to know Hank. He is her last remaining connection to her mother. Maybe, by getting to know him, she’ll get to know _her._

Hank is waiting for her outside the airport, holding a sign that reads ‘Miss Darcy Lewis,’ as if she’s some important rockstar and not his granddaughter. It makes her smile. “You ready, kiddo?” Hank’s smile cracks across the lines of his face.

Darcy nods. “Yeah.” Hank tosses her suitcase into the back of his truck and they set off down the road.

Hank lives in a small cabin just outside Valdez, and Darcy can’t help but think how cliche it is. The cabin’s small, with only two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room with a huge fireplace. There’s a basement too and a shed around back. Bookshelves stuffed with worn crime novels fill the living room. The furniture is miss-matched and Hank has several flannel quilts tossed around the house. There isn’t a tv.

“Right.” Hank shuffles awkwardly. Darcy realizes that she’s in his space. He isn’t used to having other people around, much less fourteen-year-old girls. “This can be your room.” He crosses the living room and opens the first door on the left. “It, um, it used to be Trish’s room before she married your dad.”

Darcy steps up beside her grandfather and peers into the room that used to be her mom’s room--that’s now her room. Faded purple paint covers the walls. A matching white desk, bed, and dresser litter the room. A stack of books, untouched by time, sit atop the desk.

“I changed the mattress, of course,” says Hank, “Couldn’t have you sleeping on that old thing. And the quilt’s from Joan. She lives in town and wanted me to give it to you when she heard that you were coming to stay--I mean, live. Shit, I’m bad at this.”

Darcy only partially listens as her grandfather rambles. She chuckles a little to herself. She finally knows where she gets that habit from. She stares at the room, taking it in with hungry eyes. Scattered in here, hidden in cracks, are clues about her mother.

“There’s an internet cafe in town,” Hank continues, “They’ve got computers and all that stuff.” He glances around awkwardly. “Well, I’m just across the cabin if you need anything.” With that, he excuses himself.

Darcy sighs. She flops down atop the quilt and drifts off to sleep.

A week and a half later, Darcy starts high school. Including herself, there are thirty-nine people in her class, and thirty-eight of them have known each other their entire lives. Which makes Darcy a spectacle. She’s been the new kid before--she knows how this works--but this time it’s different. This time, she’s not Darcy Lewis, whose dad married a woman and now they live here, she’s Darcy Lewis, an orphan whose living in Alaska because she has nowhere else to go.

She wants nothing more than to disappear--to go back to San Diego, where it’s warm and she’s just another face in the crowd. It’s easier to fit in at a big school. Here, the lines are so clearly drawn between cool and uncool, popular and not. Darcy hates it.

She’s shown around the school by a girl named Mandy, who is a junior and rubs her the wrong way as she gloats about being valedictorian and the captain of the girl’s basketball team. Mandy hands Darcy her schedule and shows her to her first class--English. Darcy takes a seat in the back, keeping her head down as the rest of the students funnel in.

“I’m Chris Williams,” says the girl who takes the seat next to her. She’s pretty, with long red hair that flows over her shoulders and bright green eyes. “You’re new here.”

“I am,” Darcy agrees.

Chris stares at her expectantly. “What’s your name?”

“Oh.” Darcy jumps. _Right. People share their names when they introduce themselves._ “I’m Darcy. Lewis. Darcy Lewis. I moved up here to live with my grandfather, Hank Levin.”

Chris nods. “I think I heard something about that.” She laughs to herself. “Okay, yeah, no. That’s a total lie. I heard everything about it. My mom’s part of Joan Finley’s quilting circle, which, talk about boring. Who wants to sit around and quilt on the weekends?”

“Um…” Darcy searches for an answer.

“You don’t have to answer that,” says Chris.

“Okay.”

“Joan’s a little obsessed with your grandfather. Not in a bad way, or anything. Apparently, they were childhood best friends. They probably would’ve married if your grandfather hadn’t moved to New York.”

“He lived in New York?” Darcy blinks. There’s so much she doesn’t know about her grandfather.

“Of course. Where else would he get all of his money? He worked on Wall Street.”

Darcy shakes her head. “He worked in oil.”

Chris shrugs. “All that matters is you’re rich, right?” The grin on her face is teasing. “Anyways, it’s good to have you, Darcy. I think we’ll be great friends.”

And she’s right.

Chris immediately accepts Darcy into her friend group. She may not be the most popular girl at school--that title goes to a senior named Layla Keller--but Chris is the most popular girl in ninth grade, and for a good reason too. Darcy has never met anyone who’s as genuinely nice as Chris. She exudes confidence, making people want to be around her. And, for some weird reason, she wants to be Darcy’s friend.

It’s weird.

Anna, Brooke, and Monica make up the rest of Chris’s friend group. Anna has three older brothers at different military academies. Like the rest of her family, she’s athletic and can’t sit still for more than a few minutes. Brooke is good with computers and Darcy instantly clicks with her. They hang out on the weekends at the internet cafe and Brooke teaches Darcy some basics of coding and hacking. Then there’s Monica, who’s hostile towards Darcy, always shooting barbed comments her way and turning her nose up at the things the others like.

“She’s like that with everyone,” Brooke offers as an explanation. “Bitch mode is kinda her default mode.”

“Yeah,” Anna agrees, “Chris only puts up with her because they’re cousins.”

That makes Darcy feel better.

Even with Monica’s attitude towards her, Darcy enjoys her friends in Valdez. For the first time in her life, she has girl-friends that she knows she can count on.

Chris is in theater, but Darcy would’ve joined it without her. She quickly becomes Jordan Leon’s right-hand woman as the senior starts relying on her to get the rest of the stage-hands in line. She learns the basics of sewing from Nicole Becker and how to build as set from Ivan Duke. Soon enough, everyone in the crew and cast knows who Darcy is, and all of them are friendly.

Sometimes, Darcy visits downtown. There are feral bunny rabbits all over Valdez and mountains that rise in the distance. It’s a pretty town. It’s different. Darcy likes that it doesn’t resemble San Diego. Valdez is somewhere totally new--a place unmarred by her past. It’s nice.

The first snowfall comes in late September. Darcy freezes her toes off in the designer boots that Heather bought her as she races to meet up with Brooke and Chris after school. Brooke chuckles when she sees her coming.

“Didn’t anyone tell you that Alaska’s a bit colder than California, Darcy?”

Darcy frowns and sticks out her tongue. “Blame my stepmother for buying me these boots.”

“I blame you for wearing those boots.”

“Though they are very cute boots,” Chris adds.

“Thank you.” Darcy huffs. “I’d like to see you two survive Nevada summers.” She jerks her head towards the gym, which is in a separate building than the high school. “Let’s get inside before I freeze to death.” Brooke and Chris laugh as they follow Darcy inside.

Though the basketball season doesn’t start for another month, the boys and girls teams are scrimmaging against each other, and Darcy, Brooke, and Chris decided to support Anna. Because they’re good friends. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Chris likes one of the boys on the basketball team, a sophomore named Josh Fulton. Absolutely nothing. Or so Chris keeps telling herself. Neither Darcy nor Brooke believes her.

Anna waves to them as they take a seat at the back of the bleachers, then she goes back to running warm-up drills. Mandy barks orders at the girl’s team, while the captain of the boy’s team, Luke Whitehead, watches his team through narrowed eyes, scrutinizing their every move. Darcy watches him before her eyes flick towards Josh. He’s attractive--she’ll give Chris that--but in an athletic way, and Darcy’s never really been one for athletes.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Chris sighs.

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Not this again.”

“What?”

“Last week you thought that Peter Michaels was your soulmate.”

“So? I believe in soulmates? What’s wrong with that?”

“The very concept of soulmates suggests that there’s only one person out there that you belong with,” Brooke explains. “I doubt that your soulmate would live in Valdez.”

“I think they’re a joke,” Darcy pipes up.

Two sets of eyes swivel to stare at her. Chris is appalled while Brooke is shocked. Even sensible Brooke seems to have eaten up the teen-magazine dribble of soulmates. “Why?” Brooke asks.

“My dad was married six times before he died,” Darcy says bitterly, “It wasn’t in some attempt to find his soulmate. He just didn’t like being alone. If my mom had been his soulmate, he would’ve felt incomplete without her. He wouldn’t’ve moved on and never looked back.”

“Yeah, but that’s your dad.” Chris frowns and Darcy understands why she’s having a hard time accepting her viewpoint. Chris’s parents grew up across the street together, and her family is so close that she puts up with Monica, even though she dislikes her. “Not everyone is like that, Darcy.”

Darcy shrugs. “You can believe what you want to, Chris, but I don’t think soulmates are real.”

“Well, I do.” Chris crosses her arms over her chest. “And I think Josh Fulton is my soulmate.”

“This week,” Brooke mutters under her breath. Darcy chuckles.

Chris huffs. “You two are ridiculous. Honestly, it wouldn’t hurt you two to be open to the possibility of dating. How will you know you’ve met Mr. Right if you’re not there to meet him?”

Darcy glances at Brooke in time to notice her expression. Bitter remorse floods her face for only a second before she replaces it with a sarcastic grin. “You know what, Chris? You’re right. I think I’m going to go meet my soulmate right now. I think I see him over by the snack table.” Brooke hops up and walks down the bleachers.

Chris glances at Darcy. “Did I say something wrong?”

Darcy shakes her head. “Nah. She’s just being Brooke. Not everyone’s looking to settle down like you are, Chris.” She watches Brooke as she purchases skittles. “Maybe stop pressing her to get a boyfriend.”

“I just want her to be happy, you know?”

“Yeah.”

They lapse into silence as the warm-up period stops and the scrimmage begins. Brooke rejoins them and tosses skittles at Chris and Darcy when she’s bored. By the last quarter, the boys are killing the girls, which Darcy thinks is a bit unfair, but Anna scores almost all of the points for the girl’s team. _At least Mandy won’t kill her,_ Darcy thinks.

“Darcy,” Chris says, drawing her attention away from the basketball court.

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could introduce me to Josh?”

Brooke shakes her head. “Chris, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, please stop while you’re ahead.”

“What?” Darcy asks, genuinely confused. Why would Chris ask her to introduce her to Josh? She’s only been in Valdez for a month. That does not give her a lot of time to make friends. “Why? What’s she  thinking?”

Brooke sighs and glances at Chris. “Do you want me to say it?”

Chris cringes. “Probably not. You’re right. I should just quit while I’m ahead.”

“No. No quitting.” Darcy’s glasses slip down her nose and she pushes them back up. “What were you going to say?” She waits, staring at Chris expectantly.

“Ugh. Fine.” Chris groans as she quickly mutters, “You’rebothJewish.”

“What was that?”

“I thought,” Chris says, annunciating each syllable, “that you might know Josh because you’re both Jewish.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “ _Wow_ , Chris. I didn’t know you were one for stereotypes.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Darcy enjoys watching Chris scramble for an answer. She keeps her face stoic so that Chris doesn’t see how humorous she finds the whole situation. Yeah, it’s a little irritating, but messing with Chris is almost worth it. “It’s not like I’m being racist or anything. I just thought that since you are Jewish you might’ve run into him at Temple or something.”

“I’m not really practicing,” Darcy says, “I celebrate the major holidays--kind of like how you only go to church on Christmas and Easter.”

“Okay.” Chris nods. “I understand. I shouldn’t have assumed something like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve.”

“I’ll find another way to introduce myself to Josh.”

Darcy finally grins, and it’s a shit-eating grin. “I never said that I wouldn’t introduce you to him.”

Brooke laughs. “You know him after all?”

Darcy shakes her head. “Not one bit.” She’s willing to sacrifice some of her dignity to introduce Chris to her crush, even if she’s only doing it to get back at her for the you-two-know-each-other-because-you’re -Jewish-comment.

The buzzer rings, ending the game. The boys win and high five each other. Mandy starts yelling at the girls. As the crowd disperses and the players start to retreat to the locker rooms, Darcy jumps down from the bleachers.

“Josh Fulton!” Josh whirls around. His eyes widen as she marches towards him, dragging Chris in tow.

“What’s happening?” Anna asks Brooke.

“I have no idea, but this oughta be good.”

“Josh,” Darcy says as she halts before him. Thankfully, most of the guys have already retreated to the locker room and the rest of them aren’t too interested in her and her friends. Only a handful of Josh’s friends linger around.

“That is my name,” Josh smirks. _Dang, he’s cuter than she realized._ His brown eyes sparkle in the gym-light. If he weren’t so muscular, Darcy might actually start thinking he’s _her_ soulmate. If the whole thing weren’t a hoax, that is.

“It’s nice to know that we’re on the same page. I’m Darcy. Darcy Lewis. I thought that we should be introduced on account of us being the only Jewish kids at this school.” Darcy grabs Josh’s hand and shakes it. “It’s very nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing more of you.” She drops Josh’s hand and pushes Chris forward. “This is my friend, Chris. She likes basketball and wants to know all about it. From you.”

“Um, hi,” says Chris awkwardly, like she isn’t the most popular girl in ninth grade.

“Hey.” Josh’s smile softens and Darcy grins. She just made the perfect match. Well, maybe not perfect, but she helped out her friend.

Leaving Chris alone with Josh, Darcy retreats to Anna and Brooke. Anna whistles. “I’m impressed, Lewis. She never would’ve introduced herself to him on her own.”

“I know.” Darcy high-fives herself.

Brooke snorts. “Do you think he’s actually interested in her?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because guys can be assholes,” is Brooke’s explanation. “Plus, we all know the moment he starts showing anything close to real interest, she’ll run the other way.”

“But she likes him,” Darcy protests.

Brooke pats Darcy on the back. “Chris like unavailable guys. It’s okay. You’ll figure out our types soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Chris likes unavailable guys. Anna, here, likes morons.”

“Hey!”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “What? It’s true, Annes. The last guy you liked asked you what kind of animal the pink panther was. The guy before that ate onions whole.”

Anna huffs. “Okay. So, maybe that’s a little bit true.”

Darcy studies Brooke. “What about you? What’s your type?”

Brooke swallows. “Um...y’know…” She studies Darcy. Her brown eyes flicking over her every feature, from her glasses to her designer boots. “Let’s just say they’re not really my thing.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Darcy nods. “Right. That makes sense, actually.”

“Really?” Anna asks, “I was surprised when she first told me? But, then again, I’ve known her since we were six.”

“My parents and sister know, but Chris doesn’t. I don’t want to risk her telling Monica,” says Brooke, “so if you could keep it quiet…”

“Of course.”

Brooke nods, relief flooding her eyes. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Anna nudges Darcy with her elbow. “What’s your type, Lewis?”

“My type?” Darcy swallows. “I guess I like smart guys.”

“ _Really?_ ” Anna raises an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be more nerdy-girl-who-gets-the-jock type, but to each their own, I guess.”

“I’m not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say, Lewis.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. Across the gym, Josh retreats into the locker rooms and Chris races over to join them. A grin never leaves her face as she speaks, “He said that I seemed like a really cool girl.” She hugs Darcy. “This is the best day of my life. We should celebrate.” And they do celebrate. They grab milkshakes at a local diner, even though it's brisk outside. As Darcy listens to her friends talk, she thinks about how she never would’ve ordered a chocolate milkshake in anything under 70 degrees back in California.

It’s the first time that she thinks of San Diego as California, and not as home. She hides her smile as she slurps her milkshake. That’s good. She’s making progress. Hank is strange, and Darcy isn’t quite sure where he got his millions from, but he cares more about her life than her dad ever did. She has a group of friends who have her back, which is new. Surprisingly, Darcy likes it. She’s so used to relying on herself, that it’s nice to have people that she can tease and joke around with. Valdez is finally starting to feel like home.

The only thing missing is Spencer.

The following Wednesday, she’s standing outside the school in a fleece jacket, waiting for Hank to pick her up after theater rehearsal, when Josh Fulton appears beside her, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “You need a ride, Lewis?” he asks, and Darcy’s surprised that he remembers her name. He hasn’t spoken to Chris since the basketball game--much to her chagrin.

Darcy shakes her head. “I’m fine. Hank will be here any moment.”

“Hank?”

“My grandfather.”

“He wouldn’t happen to be Hank Levin? Would he?”

Darcy sighs. “Does everyone here know my grandfather?”

Josh shrugs. “He’s kind of a local legend. Being mysteriously rich will do that to you.” He flips his keys in between his fingers. “So, Lewis, what’s your story?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard it already.”

“What can I say? I’m not one for rumors.” Josh smiles, and it’s a nice smile. Darcy groans internally. _Why does Josh Fulton have to have a nice smile? Why couldn’t he be an asshole?_ “Alright, I’ll start. My name’s Josh. Born and raised in Valdez, although my older sister lives in Georgia now.”

“Why Georgia?”

“I dunno. It’s warm, I guess.” Josh glances down at Darcy. “That’s about it. My life story isn't that interesting.”

“Neither is mine,” Darcy lies.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s the truth.” _It’s not._ Darcy’s life is a tragedy. Hamlet has nothing on her. Compared to her, the Prince of Denmark’s family dramas are minuscule. She doesn’t tell Josh this though, because he’s normal, and people with normal lives love hearing all the juicy details of those whose worlds are trainwrecks. It excites them.

“It’s not,” says Josh. “But it’s okay--you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” He pauses. Darcy watches as he thinks. The way that his forehead scrunches reminds her of Spencer. Although, Spencer is capable of erasing his emotions at a moment’s notice. Josh wears his on his face. “Look, about your friend Chris-”

“What about her?”

“She’s a cool girl,” Josh says, “I’m just not into her that way. She’s not really my type.”

Darcy finds that hard to believe. Chris is everyone’s type. She’s a great person and fun to be around. A little tactless at times--but so are the rest of them. Going off of what Brooke and Anna said, if Chris seriously isn’t Josh’s type, then she’ll be infatuated with him for much longer than if he felt the same way.

 _He must be gay,_ Darcy thinks. _That_ is the only reasonable explanation.

Josh starts sauntering towards his car, a beat-up blue ford. “Just tell her that for me. Alright, Lewis?”

“No.”

“Pretty please.” He’s halfway across the parking lot, nearly shouting at her.

“You’re being stupid. She’s great.”

“I’m sure she is.”

Darcy huffs. “If she’s not your type, then who is?”

Josh pauses with his keys in the car door. He hops inside, and Darcy thinks that he’s going to speed out of the parking lot, leaving her alone with the information that he doesn’t like Chris and that she now has to find a way to break the news to her friend, when Josh drives up to the curb. He rolls his window down and looks her straight in the eyes.

“You are, Lewis.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. Josh grins and drives away. _What is she supposed to do with that information?_

That night, she calls Spencer.

“Hello?”

“I need help,” Darcy says, flopping down on the couch. There’s only one phone in the house, and Hank keeps it in the living room, which means that none of her calls are actually private. The good news is that Hank doesn’t care about teenage girl drama, so he tends to leave her alone.

“Okay,” says Spencer, “I think I remember Algebra I.” It’s a joke. Of course, he remembers Algebra I. Spencer can spin math circles around Darcy any day.

“It’s not a school issue. Well, I mean, it’s kinda a school issue. So, you know my friend Chris?”

“You’ve told me about her.”

“Well, anyways, she likes this guy--his name’s Josh--and she wanted to meet him, so I introduced her to him. And I thought they hit it off, but I talked to Josh today, and he said that Chris isn’t his type. And I don’t know what to do because, apparently, I _am._ ”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and Darcy’s breath catches in her throat as she waits for Spencer’s response. “Do you like him back?”

“What? No! Of course not. I would never...Chris has dibs.”

“But if Chris didn’t have dibs, would you like him then?”

Darcy freezes. She hasn’t thought about that. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about it. “I don’t know. I guess.” She groans and whines, “Tell me what I should do, Spencer.”

“I’m not exactly a relationship expert.”

“But you know more about it than me. You’re dating Sarah.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What happened?”

Spencer tells her the story of how Sarah broke it off with him because he was too intense for her. Darcy listens, trying to figure out the right words to say. What did Spencer say to her when her heart was broken by Justin Britt? Darcy can’t remember. They talk long into the night until Darcy falls asleep, still holding the phone to her ear. When she wakes up, the phone is back in its place, and a quilt has been laid over her body.

She avoids the Josh Fulton problem. Whenever she sees him at school, she turns the other way. She begins taking long and convoluted routes from one class to another just to avoid brushing shoulders in the hallway. Brooke notices. As they’re getting ready for a Halloween party, Brooke pulls her aside and says, “Y’know, Chris would totally understand if you were into Josh Fulton. You shouldn’t avoid him for her sake.”

Darcy sputters. “Josh Fulton? Seriously? Why would I be into him? He’s--you know--an athlete. He’s not my type.” Which is a lie, because Josh Fulton is ranked second in tenth grade. He’s smart _and_ athletic. A total jackpot, as Chris would say.

Brooke nods. “Whatever you say, Darcy.”

Darcy groans. Obviously, Brooke doesn’t believe her. And neither does Anna, who asks Darcy to her face whether or not she’s interested in Josh. She’s _not._ She doesn’t understand why her friends think otherwise. Thankfully, Chris never notices.

Before Darcy knows it, the semester is over. There’s more snow on the ground than she’s seen in her life--everywhere she looks is white. It’s foreign. Even though her toes freeze off in her snow boots, Darcy enjoys it. Winter is beautiful.

“Don’t forget we’re having Brooke’s birthday party next week,” Anna reminds her as they leave the campus.

“Why would I forget? It’s at my house.”

Anna shrugs. “I don’t know. Keep an eye out for snow storms too, Lewis. We’re bound to get some around this time of the year.” She readjusts the straps of her backpack and starts heading in the direction of her house. “Have a Merry Christmas. Or, a Happy Hanukkah, I guess.”

“You too,” Darcy shouts after her. Hank’s truck is waiting for her just outside the school. Darcy opens the door and hoists herself in. “School was good,” she answers Hank’s unasked question before he has the opportunity to ask it and turns to her grandfather--

He isn’t her grandfather.

Sitting in the driver's seat if Spencer, wearing a huge wool sweater. A beanie is tugged over his unruly hair and he grips the steering wheel with mittens. He’s leaner than she remembers. And taller. He’s beginning to look like an adult instead of a scrawny kid. He smiles at her, and suddenly Darcy’s back in San Diego, riding the bus to his dorm because he’s the only one who cares. She feels like a little girl again.

“Hey, Darce,” Spencer says.

Darcy reaches over and pulls him into a hug. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be in until Monday.”

“Hank thought it’d be a nice surprise,” Spencer says when she pulls back. “Was he right?”

“Of course.” Darcy nods. “Of course he’s right. Although, I didn’t know that you were coming early, so I can’t be held responsible for what happens after Christmas.”

“What happens after Christmas?”

“My friends are coming over for a slumber party.” It’s the first one that she’s hosting, and Darcy is irrationally excited for it. “It’s also kind of Brooke’s surprise birthday party. So, there’ll be a bunch of teenagers at the house.”

Spencer’s eyes widen and Darcy giggles. He’s never been a fan of large groups of people--especially when those people are teenagers. Social functions aren’t his forte.

“I’m sure you can find a motel in town if you want to.”

“No. No. I’ll be fine.” Spencer gulps. “I mean, it’s not like I’m incapable of social interaction. Besides, if they’re your friends, they can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me, they’re great.”

They drive home. Darcy rambles on about her final exams, and it’s great to see Spencer again--wonderful to sit in the front seat of the car and talk to him as if nothing’s changed--but it feels different. Something’s off. Something’s altered. Darcy can’t put her finger on it and it bothers her. This is Spencer. He’s taller and leaner, but he’s still Spencer. The same boy who was her best friend for the longest time--her only friend sometimes.

But he’s not anymore.

And for some reason, that changes things.

Darcy doesn’t like it--she doesn’t like the feeling in the pit of her stomach that she doesn’t know how to explain--so she ignores it. She pretends that everything is the same as the last time she saw Spencer, back when he dropped her off at the airport. Was it really only a few months ago? It feels like another lifetime.

That night, they sit across the couch from one another, both of them wrapped in blankets as they tell stories of their lives. Spencer’s finishing up his second PhD. Soon, he’ll leave the world of academia behind forever.

“Are you going to join the FBI?” Darcy asks between bites of popcorn. Hank may not have a television, but he has enough popcorn to fill a movie theater. Darcy originally wondered why, but now she dismisses it as one of her grandfather’s odd habits. He has a lot of them.

“That’s the plan. I’m going to move to Virginia soon and start training. What about you, Darce?”

“I’m fourteen. I don’t have to have a plan yet.”

“Maybe not for your life, but have you decided what to do about Josh Fulton?”

“I don’t want to think about him.” Darcy frowns. “Boys are stupid.” Spencer chuckles. Darcy throws a piece of popcorn at him. “I’m being serious. Guys always act like girls have so much more drama than them, but, in reality, we don’t. We’re just more vocal about it. Plus, the only reason that we have drama is because of them, and, well, Monica makes enough drama for all of Valdez.” She leans forward on her elbows. “Did I tell you about the senior scandal?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, it all started because Layla Keller got caught smoking weed in the girl’s bathroom.” Darcy launches into a story about the scandal that started with one girl smoking weed and ended with the entire senior class almost getting suspended, and all because Monica couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Spencer sat across from her, listening to her every word, nodding along and asking all the right questions.

They fall into a comfortable routine.

Hank leaves for work every morning, although Darcy is starting to question where he goes every day. Chris thinks he made his money in New York, Anna said something about Soviet spies, and Brooke believes that he has shares in Apple. Everyone seems to have their own theories as to where Hank Levin’s money came from.

Darcy and Spencer hang out. They talk. They read in silence. Darcy has him drive into town to pick up supplies for the snowstorm that’s supposed to hit them after New Years. She shows him some of the sights. Not that there’s much to see when everything’s covered in snow. Spencer hates the snow. He constantly grumbles about the freezing weather, which makes Darcy laugh.

They celebrate Hanukkah, which overlaps with Christmas this year, so they have a hybrid holiday. It’s fun, even though Hank gives both of them cash because he says he doesn’t know what kids these days like anyways. Darcy gives Spencer David Rossi’s newest book, which Hank managed to get early because of his ‘connections.’ Spencer gives Darcy a necklace that she knows used to be his mother’s. She hugs him and thanks him.

Sometimes, it feels like nothing has changed. Those are the moments that Darcy loves--the moments that remind her of when they were kids.

Sometimes, it feels like worlds separate them. When Spencer cracks a joke that Darcy doesn’t get, and the awkward pause hangs in between them--when Darcy runs into some friends from school and doesn’t know how to introduce Spencer--those are the moments that Darcy hates. She wishes that they would go away--that they could revert to the natural cadence that they had before her dad’s death.

On the night of Brooke’s birthday sleepover, Darcy is in the kitchen breaking apart chunks of cookie dough when Spencer appears in the doorway. He glances from her to the cookie sheet then back to her. “Do you want me to take care of those before you burn them?” he asks.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “They’re Pillsbury cookies, Spencer. Even _I_ can manage not to burn them.” She sticks the cookie sheet in the oven.

Spencer shrugs. “Whatever you say.” There’s a knock at the door and Spencer goes to answer it. Darcy hears her friend’s voices as they wander into her house.

“I thought Hank Levin would have a bigger house.” That’s Monica.

“Monica, you can’t say something like that.” That’s Chris.

The laughter that follows both of the girls is definitely Anna’s.

“You must be Spencer, Darcy’s brother.” That’s Brooke.

“Not her brother, but, um, yeah.”

“Cool. I’m Brooke. This is Anna, Chris, and Monica.” Darcy can picture Brooke introducing herself to Spencer, gesturing to each of her respective friends.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she shouts.

Spencer reappears a second later with her friends in tow. “I’m going to check on Hank around back,” he tells Darcy. “Holler if you need anything.”

“I will.” Darcy’s eyes follow Spencer out the door. She turns back to her friends, surprised to find them all staring at the spot that Spencer just left.

“ _Damn,_  Darcy,” Monica says, “You didn’t tell me your brother was hot.”

Something about how Monica says the words bothers Darcy. She doesn’t like to think of Spencer as hot, although she supposes that, objectively, he is appealing to look at. It feels wrong. “He’s not my brother.”

Monica shrugs. “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s hot. It just means that there’s more competition.”

“What? No. Don’t say that.”

“Leave Darcy alone, Mon,” says Chris, “Besides, Spencer may be attractive, but he’s no Josh Fulton.” Everyone else in the room--including Monica--groans. “What?” Chris asks defensively.

“How long does a guy have to ignore you for you to get the hint?” Monica asks, and Darcy’s glad that she does, because she still hasn’t figured out a way to break the Josh-said-I’m-his-type-news to Chris.

“He’s just shy.”

“I hate to say this,” says Brooke, “but Monica’s right.”

“Thank you.”

“Josh Fulton’s not into you, and he’s an idiot for that, but that’s just the facts, Chris.” Brooke sighs. “Sometimes, the people we like don’t like us back. That just means that you have to move on.”

Anna groans. “Can we _please_ talk about something other than Josh Fulton?”

“How about what a snack Darcy’s not-brother is?”

Darcy glares at Monica. It bothers Darcy that Monica thinks Spencer is hot, and it bothers her that she’s bothered by it. People have liked Spencer in the past. She’d helped set him up with Sarah, for crying out loud. Why do Monica’s comments bother her so much?

Brooke claps her hands together. “Okay. This is my birthday, so I get to make the rules, and I say no more boy talk tonight.”

“Yes! Amen!” Darcy chuckles at Anna’s exclamation. Her laughter grows when Anna produces a bag of twine from her duffle bag. “I brought macrame.”

Monica groans. “You four are the boringest friends in the history of friends.” She crosses to the fridge and yanks open the door. “This is more my style.” Monica pulls a beer bottle out of the fridge. Darcy’s jaw drops as she twists off the lid and starts drinking it. Monica flops down on the couch. “What’re we supposed to do if we can’t talk about boys and don’t have a tv?”

Darcy feels suddenly embarrassed by her grandfather’s lack of technology. The only reason why they’re having the sleepover at her house is because everyone else has family in town. Her house wasn’t anyone’s first choice.

“I have nail polish,” Darcy offers.

“See,” says Chris, “we’ll have plenty of fun.” The other girls glare at Monica, who rolls her eyes and sips her beer.

Beside Darcy, Brooke sniffs. “Does anyone else smell something burning?”

“Shit! My cookies.”

Darcy burns the cookies. She lets Spencer make the next batch when he and Hank come inside for dinner. By that time, the girls have migrated to the living room and are painting each other’s nails. They eat pizza for dinner. They stick candles in the tiramisu that Anna made and sing Brooke happy birthday. She’s the second of them to turn fifteen--Chris already has a car and permit.

Everything is going well until Monica and Chris convince them to play truth or dare around one in the morning. Hank is sound asleep in his room and Darcy offered Spencer her bedroom for the night, choosing instead to sleep near the roaring fire with her friends. Anna is snoring peacefully in her sleeping bag. Her drool seeps into her pillow, staining it a darker shade of green. Chris goes first.

“Brooke, truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“Okay.” Chris glances around, searching for something to dare Brooke with. “I dare you to…stand outside barefoot for thirty seconds.”

Brooke does it, of course. She shivers next to the fire afterward, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Darcy’s gaze drifts out the window as Brooke asks Monica ‘truth or dare.’ She can see the northern lights. They’re beautiful. The movement of greens and blues in the sky. She knows that they have something to do with magnetic waves, but she can’t remember what. Spencer would know.

“Darcy.”

Darcy is drawn out of her thoughts by Monica’s demanding voice. “Huh?” Her four friends stare at her expectantly. “Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“Truth or dare?”

Darcy is a bit of a coward--and she doesn’t want to stand barefoot in the Alaskan winter--so she says, “Truth.”

A cheshire grin draws across Monica’s face. “Do you purposefully go out of your way to avoid Josh Fulton at school?”

“Um…”

“Wait, let me rephrase that: did Josh Fulton tell you something, and is that the reason why you avoid him?”

Darcy’s gaze drifts over to Chris, who is staring at her with curious eyes, waiting for an answer that will break her heart. She can’t answer Monica’s question, and maybe that was Monica’s plan all along, because when Darcy says, “I change my mind. I choose dare,” Monica is ready with a dare.

“I dare you to kiss Spencer.”

Darcy’s pulse races. She feels the blood rush to her face. “What? No. I can’t do that. He’s like my brother.”

“But he’s not your brother.” Monica’s grin widens. “Unless, of course, you want to tell Chris here the truth about Josh Fulton.”

“Monica,” interrupts Brooke, “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Darcy.”

Darcy glances over to Chris, whose expression is so vulnerable. She can’t do this. Her choices are breaking the heart of Chris--her first friend--the first person to accept her in Valdez--or kissing Spencer. Either one will ruin her relationship with an important person in her life.

Darcy swallows the lump in her throat and takes a deep breath. “He said that you aren’t his type.” Chris’s face falls. Darcy feels like the shittiest friend in the world.

“And?” Monica asks.

Darcy’s eyes flit to Monica. How does she know so much about her short conversation with Josh Fulton? “That’s it,” Darcy lies.

Monica shakes her head. “I thought you were better than that, Darcy.” She turns to Chris and says the words that Darcy was dreading most. “He said that _she_ is his type--not you. That’s why he won’t go out with you, because he’s into her.”

The look of betrayal on Chris’s face is enough to break Darcy’s heart.

“But I’m not into him,” Darcy rushes to explain. She can feel tears coming to her eyes, but she forces them back. Now is not the time for crying. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding him.”

Chris’s voice is barely a whisper when she says, “If you didn’t like him, then you wouldn’t have to avoid him.” She stands, grabbing her purse and sleeping bag. “I’m sorry, Brooke. I just can’t…” Her voice breaks and her eyes water.

Darcy jumps up. “Hey. Don’t leave. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but there wasn’t anything to tell.”

“I can’t believe you.” Chris pushes past her. Gathering her stuff, Monica follows.

“I hope you’re happy,” Brooke spits at her. Monica ignores her. The door slams shut behind the cousins.

Anna startles awake. “What’s going on?” she asks as Chris and Monica drive away in her car.

Darcy feels two sets of eyes on her and she brushes away her tears. Brooke sighs sympathetically. “Chris wasn’t as understanding about the Josh and Darcy thing as we thought she’d be.” She wraps an arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. She’ll get over it.”

“She will,” Anna agrees, “She’s just letting herself be controlled by Monica.”

“She’s right, though,” Darcy says between gasps. She’s in a full-on meltdown now. “If I didn’t like him, I’d just have told her.” Brooke and Anna share a look.

_She should’ve just kissed Spencer._

The following morning, Brooke and Anna’s parents come to pick them up. They tell her not to worry about Chris, but Darcy does nonetheless. She betrayed Chris. She betrayed her friend. The events of the night before race through Darcy’s mind, even as Hank drives her and Spencer to the airport. He waits in the truck as Darcy helps Spencer carry his stuff inside. She’s uncharacteristically quiet, and Spencer notices.

“Hey.” He stops her as they step inside, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

Darcy glares at him and pulls back, shrugging his hand off of her shoulder. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Spencer nods. “Okay. It’s just that I heard some shouting last night-”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Darcy-”

“You’re not my brother, Spencer.” The words are harsh, but they’re true. Spencer really has no reason to care about her. He has no reason to fly all the way to Alaska for a holiday she doesn’t celebrate.

“I’m not,” Spencer agrees, “but I still care about you.”

“It’s not your job to care.”

“But I do.”

“Well,” Darcy spits, “maybe you should stop.”

If she were in her right mind, she would apologize to Spencer. If she were in her right mind, she would never say these things to him. But she’s not. And all that she can think about is the fact that he cost her Chris. _He_ is the reason that Chris is mad at her. If she had had the guts to kiss him, then Chris wouldn’t have left the sleepover suddenly. They’d still be friends.

All that she feels is hurt, and she wants someone else to feel as badly as she does.

Those are the reason that Darcy says her next words. “Our parents were married for a year. We’re not step-siblings. We’re not anything. I don’t need you anymore. No. More than that. I don’t _want_ you.”

Spencer’s face shuts down. It closes off. His expressive eyes go blank.

 _Good,_ Darcy thinks. She whirls around and marches out of the airport, leaving Spencer behind. For a second, she feels better. It is only when Hank pulls into the driveway and vanishes into his workshop that reality comes crashing back down on her.

_She told Spencer she didn’t want him._

Racing inside, Darcy grabs the phone and dials Spencer’s number. He’s on a plane right now, but maybe she can leave him a message--maybe she can apologize to him.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

_Damn._

Darcy dials again and again, but each time she gets the same answer: “The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Darcy collapses onto the floor and sobs.

Two days later, a storm hits them and everything shuts down. She plays cards with Hank and tries to ignore the hollowness in her chest. He’s been watching her with knowing eyes. Darcy knows that he knows what’s going on with her, but, thankfully, he doesn’t ask.

“How’d you make your money?” Darcy asks one night when they’re playing dominos and Hank is winning.

“I had a friend back in the day who needed my help in a few of his business ventures.”

“And that made you rich?”

“No.” Hank shakes his head. “But being friends with Howard Stark didn’t hurt my prospects.”

That’s not the answer Darcy was expecting. Normally, she’s fire off question after question, wanting to know everything there is to know about her grandfather’s relationship with Howard Stark, but she can’t bring herself to get excited.

“That’s cool,” she mutters.

Three days later, she starts school. Her friend group has officially split up, and Darcy feels bad about being the cause of it. Anna and Brooke side with her, while Monica sides with Chris. That’s to be expected: she caused this whole mess anyway. Chris doesn't get over it. Things change.

Darcy tries writing Spencer a letter, but it’s returned unopened. She wonders what’s happened to him.

The years pass by. In sophomore year, Darcy starts dating Josh Fulton. She figures, _‘Why the hell not?’_ It’s not like she has anything to lose anymore. They have a lot of fun together. They break up when he graduates, and Darcy doesn’t really miss him.

She only slightly misses Spencer when she goes to see the Keira Knightley _Pride and Prejudice with_ her friends.

Senior year, Darcy applies to CU because they have the best political science program around, and she’s decided she wants to work in politics. Anna gets accepted to a military academy that she apparently can’t tell her friends anything about. Brooke gets a full ride to Caltech.

Slowly, Spencer becomes another fond memory. The pictures in her room are of Anna, Brooke, Josh, and Hank. They’re of prom and basketball games--of spending the summers camping with her two best friends. They’re of a different girl from the one who arrived in Valdez when she was fourteen--this girl has friends. She has a purpose.

Only one picture of her past remains. A candid photograph sits in a frame at the very back of her desk. The picture shows a little girl in a rumpled dress resting her head against the shoulder of a boy with long hair and glasses. Her eyes are closed as he reads to her, but she hangs on to every word.

Hank is a better guardian than her father ever was. He makes her a trust fund so that she’ll have money even if he dies. He mutters something about the ‘ _damned government always taking what’s yours’_ as an explanation. Hank cares about her and offers to send her to any university in the world. Darcy only wants to go to one.

When Darcy Lewis is eighteen years old, she moves to Virginia and starts attending Culver University.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Make sure to leave kudos and tell me what you thought of this chapter. I look forward to hearing from you.


	5. In Five Years Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will everyone please direct their attention to the chapter count? Yes, that's right. I finally outlined the rest of the story, and, man, this is going to be a rollercoaster people. The good news is that this chapter officially marks the halfway point (chapter count wise. Idk about word count).
> 
> You should know that I’ve changed the timeline due to the chosen years for Darcy and Spencer’s birth. I wanted them to be five years apart in age so they’re close enough in age to genuinely bond as children. As such, Spencer was 21 in 2005/season one instead of 24. Darcy will be 22 in 2011 for the events of Thor. I decided to skip over Gideon and Elle for plot reasons but they still totally exist. Also, just ignore the canon unless I specifically mention it. Criminal Minds doesn’t want their characters to be happy, but I do. 
> 
> You know...eventually. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Spencer Reid is twenty-four years old when Culver University gets its very own serial killer. He sits in the briefing room, listening to JJ describes the recent murders on the campus as he studies the pictures displayed on the screen before him.

The pictures are grotesque, but, thanks to the job, Spencer’s seen worse. All of them were men. All of them were tall and strong. The first was a frat boy, the second was a TA, and the third was a professor. All of them were stabbed multiple times.

“This is Alistair Jones, 49, a criminal law professor at CU,” JJ says. “He was found this morning in his office by his TA. Multiple penetration wounds. In other words, he was stabbed seventeen times.” She pulls up a more detailed picture of the wounds.

“Why weren’t we called in earlier?” asks Rossi.

“The police weren’t sure that the first two murders were connected. Neither of the men knew each other and both had many enemies.”

“So, what changed their minds?” Hotch asks.

“This did.”

A note appears on the screen, written in scrawling cursive on crumpled notebook paper. Spencer squints as he reads the message. “By decree of the Knight of Lorne, the death of this fiend shalt not beest mourn'd.”

Prentiss quirks an eyebrow. “Is that a poem or something?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. The unsub definitely wrote this.” He studies the handwriting, focusing on the slant of the letters. “It’s a threat. Perhaps the unsub doesn’t want this victim to be remembered.”

“Killing him seems like a bad way to do that,” says Prentiss.

“So, the question is ‘who is the Knight of Lorne?’ and ‘why is he killing these men?’” Rossi frowns.

Garcia, who’s been chewing on her glittery pen, nods. “I’ll get right on it.”

“So, we’re just going to ignore the obvious?” All eyes in the room turn to Morgan, who briefly meets Spencer’s gaze before turning to Hotch and Rossi. “Culver University already has a security threat on campus.”

Spencer shakes his head. “There’s nothing to suggest that the Hulk would kill these people. The use of a weapon does not fit. Not to mention Dr. Banner is constantly under surveillance. The likelihood of Dr. Banner or the Hulk being involved in these murders is slim.”

“But there’s still a chance,” Hotch says matter-of-factly. “Morgan, you and Reid will pay Dr. Banner a visit and see if he knows anything about the murders. Prentiss and Rossi, take a look at the most recent crime scene. See if you can uncover anything about our victim while you're at it. Our unsub seems to believe that he’s guilty. I want to know why. JJ and I will head over to the police station.” He stands up. “Let’s go people.”

Culver University is an hour and a half drive from Quantico. Spencer is honestly surprised that the unsubs would be bold enough to kill so close to the authorities. It speaks of a braveness that a small part of Spencer admires. He wonders when he started admiring killers. That’s probably not a good sign. Maybe his mom is right. Maybe this job is changing him.

Morgan is silent the entire ride there, much to Spencer’s amazement. While Morgan’s not the chatterbox that Penelope is, he usually isn’t this silent. “What’s your issue with Dr. Banner?” Spencer asks in an attempt to fill the silence. He’s gotten used to it over the last five years but that doesn’t mean that he likes it.

Morgan’s jaw tightens. “I just don’t like powered people.”

“Not even Captain America?” Spencer finds it hard to believe that anyone would dislike Captain America. Rossi specifically had mentioned looking up to Steve Rogers when he was younger.

“Not even Captain America.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Even if you dislike powered people, Dr. Banner is one of the foremost scientists of our time. He’s on a level close to Einstein.”

“You mean a level close to you?” Morgan arches an eyebrow.

“I would hardly compare myself to Einstein,” Spencer sputters. “He was a genius. Besides, our fields are vastly different.”

“I guess that’s true.” Morgan nods.

They pull off of the freeway, entering the CU campus, and Spencer can’t help but admire how pretty it is. The leaves are beginning to turn, painting the campus in red and gold. Students walk down the sidewalks, seemingly oblivious to the murders that are going on around them. For a moment, Spencer envies them. He had flourished in the academic world and easily could have spent his life getting one Ph.D. after another. As quickly as they came, the thoughts leave. He is doing good. He is saving people. Not many geniuses could say the same.

They pull into the parking lot of the K. M. Pierce Chemistry Building and Morgan places the car in park. Spencer hops out, slamming the passenger door shut behind him. The late-seventies architecture is gaudy, even to Spencer’s untrained eye. He follows Morgan up three flights of stairs until they arrive at Dr. Banner’s office.

The door is open and the office inside is not what Spencer expected. It’s chaotic. That is the only way to explain the man’s cluttered workspace. It’s not the bright and colorful clutter that Garcia has either. Take-out containers are abandoned throughout the room. Books cover the sofa. Stacks of ungraded papers pile atop a desk. Dr. Banner snores peacefully in his chair, looking more like a recently divorced father of two than the greatest scientist of their time.

Morgan leans towards Spencer. “Do we wake him up?”

Spencer frowns. Surely waking Dr. Banner up won’t cause him to transform into the Hulk. _Right?_ “I guess.”

Morgan stares at him as if he expects Spencer to be the one to wake the man. “Fine,” he huffs. He picks up a textbook from the couch and drops it on the floor. It lands with a thud.

Dr. Banner bolts awake. He jumps out of his seat.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “You couldn’t just say his name?”

Morgan shrugs. “I didn’t see you doing anything.” He turns to face Dr. Banner. Spencer watches in amazement as his face transforms from the teasing-older-brother look he so often gives Spencer to one of seriousness. “Dr. Banner, I am Agent Morgan, this is my colleague Dr. Reid. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions about-”

“The murders,” Dr. Banner finishes. He adjusts his glasses and frowns. “I knew you’d be coming to see me. Who’d you say you’re with again?”

“We didn’t,” Spencer supplies. “We’re with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit.”

“Not SHIELD?”

“Who?” asks Morgan.

Dr. Banner shakes his head. “Nevermind.” He turns his gaze upon Spencer. “I saw your Stanford presentation. Well, I watched it online, but that’s practically the same thing, right? It was good.”

Spencer can feel a blush rising to his face and he tries to school his features. He’s pretty sure he fails. Having Dr. Banner compliment his work is a dream come true. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Actually, I wanted  to talk to you about your recent article in _PLOS One_ journal-”

“Reid-”

“What?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Another time.”

“Right.” Spencer swallows. He straightens slightly as he turns back to Dr. Banner, the eager academic replaced by the FBI agent. “What can you tell us about the recent string of murders on campus?”

“Other than that I had nothing to do with it?” Dr. Banner collapses into his seat. “Nothing. I didn’t know either of the victims.”

“What about Alistair Jones?” Morgan asks.

Dr. Banner’s eyes widen. “Alistair’s dead?”

Spencer nods. “He was found in his office this morning with a note.”

“You knew Dr. Jones well?”

Dr. Banner shakes his head. “Not really. I’d met him at a few faculty functions, of course. He was a smart man for all that he was a misogynistic asshole.”

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up. “So, you didn’t like him?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dr. Banner says, “but I didn’t kill him, and neither did the Hulk. I had a student who graduated last year who reported him for inappropriate behavior, but nothing was ever done about it. As tragic as it is, I’m not exactly going to mourn his death.” He aimlessly shuffles around some of his papers. “Are they adding him on to the vigil?”

“What vigil?”

Dr. Banner shrugs. “The university is having a vigil tonight for the other two victims.”

An understanding passes between Spencer and Morgan as Dr. Banner talks. The words from the note rise to Spencer’s mind: _the death of this fiend shalt not beest mourn'd_. It was a threat.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Banner.” With a nod, Morgan strolls out of the room.

Spencer yanks a business card out of his wallet and hands it to Dr. Banner. “If you notice anything unusual, call us.” Part of him is hoping that Dr. Banner would call him just to chat about his academic pursuits as well. With that, Spencer bolts out the door.

When they’re back in the car, Morgan calls Hotch. “I don’t think Banner had anything to do with the murders.”

“Neither do we,” agrees Hotch. “It appears that none of out victims are morally upstanding citizens. Jones had been accused of sexual harassment, McCormick was involved in a DUI and car crash, and Pickets was acquitted of a domestic violence charge.”

“So we’ve got a vigilante on our hands?”

“There’s more,” Spencer pipes up. “The university is having a vigil tonight for the victims. I think Jones was killed as a warning.”

Hotch sighs. “Of course, he was. Talk to Dr. Brown about canceling the vigil, then report back to the station.”

“That’s a copy.” Morgan snaps the phone shut. Absentmindedly, Spencer wonders if the reason Morgan’s put off upgrading his phone for so long is that he enjoys the feeling of closing it.

Dr. Latasha Browns, the president of Culver University, reluctantly calls off the vigil. “Jason McCormick’s family is one of our biggest donors,” she huffs. “His parents will make a big fuss about this.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand that your desire to protect the rest of the students,” Morgan says.

Spencer is too focused on studying Dr. Brown’s office to listen to the conversation she has with Morgan. From the pictures and the items scattered about her office, he deduces that she’s recently divorced. Every hour that she does not spend sleeping, she probably spends working in her office.

His eyes scan over the bookshelf. Mostly, it’s full of textbooks, with a few faculty publications scattered throughout. Stuffed on the bottom shelf it a paperback book that’s spine reads _The Maiden of Lorne._ Crouching down, Spencer pulls the book from the shelf.

The cliche romance novel cover--featuring a petite dark-haired woman and a tall man with windswept locks--doesn’t fit in with the rest of Dr. Brown’s academic books. He flips it over, his gaze scanning over the summary on the back:

_Elisabeth Quinn is an intelligent and adventurous maiden raised by her cruel uncle, the Lord of Lorne. When her uncle mysteriously dies, Elisabeth sets out to search for answers. What she finds are two men, as different as day and night. Her heart torn between the cunning Lord Griffin and the mysterious Knight of Lorne, Elisabeth soon discovers that her destiny is greater than she ever could have imagined._

Spencer stands and turns to Dr. Brown. “Where did you get this book?” he asks.

Dr. Brown’s cheeks redden and she coughs, trying to school her features to be professional. “It was written by one of our faculty--Dr. Julia Moon. She gave it to me after it was published. That’s why I keep it in my bookshelf, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer glances down at the cracked spine and worn pages. If he had to guess, he’d say that _The Maiden of Lorne_ is one of Dr. Brown’s favorite books. He doesn’t say this, however, instead choosing to pass the book over to Morgan, whose eyes widen as he reads the same summary that Spencer just did.

“We’d like to talk to Dr. Moon if that’s possible,” says Morgan.

“Unfortunately, Julia passed away last May in a burglary-gone-wrong.” Dr. Brown glances between Spencer and Morgan, trying to decipher what’s going on. Her eyes narrow. “You should talk to Tony Hicks. The two shared an office. Tony’s actually teaching a class over _The Maiden of Lorne_ right now.” She sits down at her desk and pulls up the browser.

Spencer leans over to Morgan as the printer begins to whirl. “It’s possible that the unsub came across Julia Moon’s book in that class and identified with the Knight of Lorne.”

Morgan nods.

“This is Dr. Hicks’s schedule.” Dr. Brown offers Morgan a piece of paper. “He can tell you more about _The Maiden._ He even got to read her second book.” At Morgan’s quirked eyebrow, she explains, “Dr. Moon died before she could publish the sequel.”

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” Spencer raises the copy of _The Maiden of Lorne._

Dr. Brown shakes her head. “If you think it’ll help, please take it.” A smile tugs at her lips. “As long as you return it once you’re done. It’s a very tempting book to steal.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Spencer answers, tucking the book into his messenger bag.

“Thank you for your help.”

After calling Hotch to tell him their discoveries, Spencer follows Morgan to the lecture hall where Dr. Hicks is teaching. Spencer reads as Morgan talks, listening to him and Hotch brainstorm as he hungrily devours the words of _The Maiden._ Spencer continues to read as they let themselves into the lecture hall, taking a seat in the very back row. He glances at the class--roughly numbering around sixty students--before returning to reading.

Five minutes later, Spencer finishes the book. Closing it, he stuffs the book back into his bag and leans back in his chair. The book wasn’t anything special. He supposes that it could be considered thrilling, but the plot was lacking. At the end of the book, Elisabeth discovers that she is actually the Lady of Lorne and that she has magical powers. She still hasn’t chosen between Lord Griffin and the Knight of Lorne.

The knight himself allows Spencer some insight into the mind of the unsub. Thanks to the reading, he now believes that the unsub is from a working-class family, probably at CU through a scholarship. He feels invisible and killing is his way to prove himself, much like the Knight of Lorne did to prove himself worthy of Elisabeth.

With this in mind, Spencer finally allows himself to examine the room.

The row of frat boys whispering two rows in front of him do not match Spencer’s profile, so he ignores them. His eyes are immediately drawn to the professor at the front of the room. Dr. Tony Hicks is a thin man with a long nose and clothes that seem to hang off of his body. He walks back and forth, talking passionately about _The Maiden of Lorne_ and its connections to _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ , pausing occasionally to ask a question.

“When Elisabeth first meets Ser Gervinsan he offers her a single rose. Why do you think he does this?” He points at a student sitting in the front row. “Mr. Thornton.”

“I think he’s in love with her.”

There’s snickering from the frat boys in front of Spencer. Even they, apparently, know that Ser Gervinsan had other motives in the offering. Dr. Hicks nods. “That could be one reading, yes. Does anyone else have any ideas?”

No one rushes to answer, so Spencer speaks up, “He does so because Elisabeth reminds him of his late wife. In offering her the rose, he is honoring her memory and, to a further extent, putting his fate in her hands.”

All heads in the classroom whirl around, turning towards Spencer. Morgan’s head drops to his hand and he sighs, “You couldn’t keep that to yourself. Could you?”

Spencer shrugs. Now is as good a time as any to announce their presence.

Dr. Hicks nods thoughtfully. “That is a very insightful reading of it, Mr…” he trails off, waiting for Spencer to answer.

“Reid,” Spencer says, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Spencer is ready to continue his interruption, essentially dismissing the class so he can speak to Dr. Hicks, when the man turns back to his class and says, “Does anyone disagree with Dr. Reid?” Spencer grins, mentally preparing himself to debate the motives of Ser Gervinsan with Dr. Hicks’s undergrads. He’s missed the routine and repertoire of undergraduate classes.

Morgan rolls his eyes.

“Maybe he just likes handing out roses.”

Spencer freezes. He recognizes that voice. It’s different--a little deeper than the last time he heard it--but he knows it all the same.

He turns to his left, facing the speaker. Sitting several rows down, leaning against the back of her chair with a thoughtful expression on her face, is Darcy.

Darcy Lewis.

 _She’s older,_ Spencer realizes with a start. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d known that she was aging at the same rate as him, but he hadn’t stopped to think about it. Stopping to think about Darcy--about the words she’d last said to him--hurt too much. But now…

 _She looks good,_ Spencer thinks. Different. Older. Pretty, even. She’s shed the cloak of adolescence, and maturity looks good on her. She’s wearing glasses with a yellow beanie pulled over her brown her. As her blue eyes meet his brown ones, her lips quirk into a smile. She’s a woman now. A woman who he hasn’t spoken to in five years. She’s practically a stranger.

 _I don’t want you._ Those were the last words she said to him. _I don’t want you._

Suddenly, he feels like Lord Nathaniel Griffin, looking at Elisabeth for the first time since they were children--awkward and out-of-place.

Dr. Hicks chuckles, pulling Spencer from his thoughts. “Thank you for your insight, Miss Lewis.”

“I’m always happy to help.” There are a couple of snickers from the students around Darcy. Spencer can’t help but roll his eyes. Clearly, she hasn’t changed too much.

_We’re not anything._

_I don’t need you anymore._

_No._

_More than that._

_I don’t want you._

Spencer frowns. He can’t...he shouldn’t...Darcy made it perfectly clear what she wanted. She doesn’t want or need him. He should focus on the case.

“Besides,” Darcy continues, “we can’t let Dr. Reid think he’s the smartest person in the room. Even if he does have an IQ of 187.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. Darcy is talking to him as if they’re the only two people in the room--and it feels like they are. He’s barely paying attention when Morgan leans over and whispers, “Do you know this kid?”

Spencer nods. “It’s a long story.”

Dr. Hicks, for his part, is only slightly surprised by Darcy’s comment. After glancing at his watch, he quickly dismisses the class. “Don’t forget that your short stories are due on Monday. Have a good weekend and be extra safe around campus at night.”

Spencer watches Darcy file out alongside the rest of the class. She offers a small wave before she disappears through the door. Spencer waves back, following Morgan down the stairs until they come face to face with Dr. Hicks.

Dr. Hicks looks tired. That’s the only way Spencer can think of to describe him. He looks tired. There are bags under his dark eyes, his clothes are rumpled, and his hair is a tangled mess. Still, he offers Spencer his hand, saying, “I haven’t been keeping up on the new hires at CU this year. So, you’ll have to excuse me for not recognizing you, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh. No. I’m not-”

“We’re with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.” _And there goes the badge._ Dr. Hicks’s eyes widen as he reads over Morgan’s credentials. “I’m Agent Morgan. As you know, this is Dr. Reid.”

Dr. Hicks nods and retracts his hand. “Is this about the recent murders?”

“Yes,” Spencer says. “We actually think that the unsub might be enrolled in your class.”

To say that Dr. Hicks looks surprised would be an understatement. He is stunned. “What makes you think this?”

Spencer nods. “We received a threatening letter from the unsub this morning where he called himself the Knight of Lorne.”

“Like in Julia’s book.”

“Exactly,” says Morgan. “This would be a person who is passionate about the book and does not take well to his views being debated. He identifies with the characters--especially the Knight of Lorne.”

“A lot of my students are passionate about _The Maiden_.” Dr. Hicks shakes his head, still in denial. “I haven’t met a student yet who doesn’t identify with at least one of Julia’s characters. That’s what makes the book so special.”

“Were you and Dr. Moon close, Dr. Hicks?” Spencer studies the man. He doesn’t seem capable of murder--not in his current state--but Spencer’s met a lot of murderers who don’t look the part. He’s learned not to judge people based solely on appearances.

Dr. Hicks nods. “We were best friends since undergrad--she was actually the one who got me this job. I was devastated when she died. Honestly, I wouldn’t have gotten through it without my husband. He’s the one who suggested I teach a class on Julia’s book to help with the grieving process.” He chuckles. “Being married to a psychiatrist can be trying sometimes but he was right about this.”

“You’re married?” Morgan asks. What he’s really asking is: _You’re married to a man in a state that doesn’t acknowledge same-sex marriages?_ They all know it.

“Yes. We used to live in Washington, but then I was offered a tenure track at CU.” Dr. Hicks shrugs. “We’ve had our fair share of hateful comments, but most of the students don’t care about it. I think I’ve actually helped a few of them. Culver is a pretty liberal campus.”

“Would you mind giving us the roster of your students?” Spencer asks, shifting the focus from Dr. Hicks’s personal life and back to the possible unsub. He originally thought that Julia Moon’s death could be a stressor, but now, he’s unsure.

“Of course.” Dr. Hicks shifts through his bag, pulling out a few pieces of pink paper. “This is the attendance sheet. Everyone who was here today signed in.”

To Spencer’s surprise, only a few students are missing from the class, which is a rarity given the class size. His eyes flick over the roster, pausing briefly on Darcy’s name. Her signature is still the same. A big D and L, with everything else illegibly scribbled. She learned it from her dad.

“You guys should know that I’m teaching _The Maiden_ in every one of my classes this semester.” Dr. Hicks shrugs apologetically. “And I teach four undergraduate classes and two graduate.”

“How many students is that?”

“Probably somewhere around two-hundred,” Spencer answers. “Could you send us those rosters too?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you for your time,” says Morgan.

“No problem.” Dr. Hicks shrugs. “If this killer is really following Julia’s book, she’d want them to get caught. Her book is about love.”

Spencer wants to debate that point. To him, _The Maiden of Lorne_ seems to be more about passion and lust than actual love. For once, he doesn’t say anything. With a quick goodbye, he leaves the room. Morgan follows behind him.

Leaning against the wall outside the exit is Darcy, clutching a notebook close to her chest. She straightens when Spencer steps into the hallway. He feels his breath leave his chest at the sight of her. _Five years is a long time._ It’s longer than he’s been in the BAU. She looks so different. It’s not just the glasses, but the way she carries herself. She’s more confident than she was when he knew her. _Maybe, being away from him has been good for her._ The thought makes Spencer’s heart ache.

“Spencer,” she breathes.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what _to_ say. He just stands in the middle of the hallway, gaping like a fish. This doesn’t seem real. He didn’t even know that she was going to Culver University. _She’s been an hour and a half away this entire time._

“Reid?” Morgan asks, drawing Spencer out of his thoughts. Morgan stands beside him, an eyebrow arched in a way that Spencer knows means that he’s going to have to explain himself.

“Darcy.” Her name feels foreign and familiar at the same time. “This is Derek Morgan with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He introduces them this way because it’s the only way he knows how. He can hardly say ‘ _this is Derek--he’s like a brother to me_.’ “Morgan, this is Darcy Lewis. She’s…”

He doesn’t know what she is. Five years ago, she was the closest thing he had to a sister--his best friend. Now, she isn’t either of those things. The Darcy Lewis standing before him is not the same Darcy Lewis he left behind at the airport.

Pain flickers through Darcy’s eyes but she quickly buries it. “Spencer and I grew up together.”

 _That’s not necessarily true_ , Spencer thinks, but he can’t come up with a better way to explain it. ‘ _Her dad was married to my mom, but then they got divorced and I didn’t see her for a few months until she ran away to my dorm room, and then we spent a lot of time together and she was the only person who ever made me feel normal, but then she told me that she didn’t want me anymore and I respected it, even though it hurt like hell, but then I met you and the rest of the BAU and it stopped hurting a little less._ ’

There’s no easy way to explain their relationship to Morgan.

“I see you joined the FBI,” Darcy says.

Spencer nods. “Yeah. I did.” He’s at a loss for words. That’s a first. Talking to Darcy used to be as natural as breathing.

“I called you.” Darcy fidgets with the notebook in her hands. “After…Your phone was disconnected.”

“It was.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Spencer remembers forgetting to pay the bill that December. It was one of those menial tasks that was forgotten in the devastation of Hurricane Darcy. Then, he’d moved to Virginia and gotten a new phone and number. He’d considered giving Hank his number in case of an emergency, but Darcy had made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. In the end, he had kept it to himself.

“Hank’s number didn’t change. You could’ve called.” There’s a note of remorse in Darcy’s voice.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” That’s only part of the reason he never called her. The other part is that he didn’t want to lose the most important person in his life all over again. After a while, the wounds that she left started to heal over. He moved on, and so did she.

“I was fourteen,” Darcy says, “You shouldn’t have listened to a word I said.”

“I’ve always listened to you.”

A smile tugs at Darcy’s mouth. “I thought you were supposed to be the genius.”

People have never been Spencer’s forte. They’re much harder for him to analyze than data, especially when he’s close to them. He’s never been as close to anyone in his life as he was with Darcy.

Spencer fiddles with the strap of his messenger bag. “Yeah. Well, we should report back to Hotch.” His eyes scan over Darcy, committing her new appearance to memory one last time. “Stay safe, Darcy.”

“Of course I will.”

Darcy’s gaze burns holes into his sweater as he and Morgan retreat. It’s only after the car doors are shut that Morgan turns to Spencer with questions on the tip of his tongue. Spencer doesn’t want to answer them. “She’s my Garcia.” The words tumble out of Spencer before Morgan can interrogate him.

To his surprise, Morgan accepts this. Without a comment, he starts the engine and they leave Culver University behind.

The rest of the day passes by in a flurry of activity--one that Spencer is left out of as he studies the unsub’s note, searching for clues as to who he might be. They provide the police with a profile: they’re looking for a possibly-tall, possibly-strong student with antisocial tendencies. He doesn’t stick out in a crowd. He won’t have many friends, if any. He’s polite, but not friendly. He spends a lot of time thinking.

That night, Spencer stares up at the ceiling of his hotel room, memorizing the popcorn ceiling. He should sleep--he knows he should. They have a busy day ahead of them and an unsub to catch. But he can’t get the image of Darcy out of his mind. She looks so much older. _Five years will do that._ Spencer can only imagine how he appeared to her. Older—more confident, maybe.

Her words keep playing on loop like a scratched record. _You shouldn’t have listened to a word I said._

But he always listened to her. Even when they were children, he took her seriously.

Maybe he should have called her back.

Spencer falls asleep trying to reconcile the young woman he saw that day with the girl from his childhood. They don’t seem to fit together.

He rises the next morning with the sun. There is one brief moment as he stares out his hotel window at university across the street where the case to drifts from his thoughts and he allows his mind to wander. He can make out the clocktower from here. It’s a beautiful old building that’s burned down and been rebuilt several times over the past century. Spencer had considered Culver University as an option briefly--if only because of the presence of Dr. Banner on campus.

The shrill ringing of his phone cuts into Spencer’s thoughts. “Hello,” he answers.

“Dr. Reid.”

A smile breaks across Spencer’s face. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._ “Dr. Banner,” he says, “I’m surprised that you’re calling me.” He hadn’t expected a world-renowned scientist to find the time to talk to him.

“Yeah, well, don’t be too surprised.” Dr. Banner sighs. “I think there’s another victim.”

Putting his phone on speaker, Spencer grabs his pants off the floor and begins dressing. “What makes you say that?”

“ _Begone, foul cockatrice, 'r face the wrath of the Knight of Lorne_ ,” Banner reads. “I’d hardly call the big guy a cockatrice. The note is pinned to my office door with a dagger.”

“What makes you think that someone’s dead?” Spencer buttons up his shirt as he stares down at the phone, waiting for Dr. Banner’s answer.

“The knife’s covered in blood.”

 _That would probably be a good indicator._ “Stay where you are, Doctor. I’ll notify the team.”

“Okay.” With that, Dr. Banner hangs up.

Running his fingers through his hair, Spencer yanks open the door, stopping abruptly as he comes face to face with Prentiss, her hand raised to knock. “We just got a call,” she says, “There’s been another murder.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Spencer nods as he steps out of the room. The door slams shut behind him. “Dr. Banner found a threatening note tacked to his door this morning.”

“Threatening how?”

“The unsub seems to be trying to run him out of town.” He starts down the hallway. Prentiss falls in line beside him. “It makes sense. The Knight of Lorne fights monsters-”

“And the Hulk’s a monster,” Prentiss finishes.

Spencer nods. “Obviously, the Hulk is too powerful for the unsub to defeat, so he’s trying to run Dr. Banner out of town instead.” He glances at Prentiss, who seems to be deep in thought. “Tell Hotch that I’m going to check on Dr. Banner.”

“Tell him yourself.” Prentiss smirks. “I’m coming with you.”

Spencer shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as the elevator doors ding open and they step inside.

They find Dr. Banner in the hallway outside his office, staring at the note pinned to the door with a frown on his face. He glances towards Spencer as he hears them approaching. “Dr. Reid,” he says in acknowledgment.

“Dr. Banner, this is Agent Emily Prentiss.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Prentiss,” Dr. Banner says. “I just wish it were under better circumstances.” He gestures to the note that’s stabbed in his door with a jewel-encrusted dagger. “Someone’s telling me to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Will you?” asks Prentiss as Spencer takes a step closer to the door, examining the dagger and note. The handwriting is the same as the last time. It’s in the same bastardized-Shakespearean writing style too.

Dr. Banner frowns. “I’m not sure.”

“It would probably be safer.”

“For me, maybe, but then this guy will just move on to someone else. That’s how this works, isn’t it?”

“It’s likely that he’ll never provoke you,” Spencer says. “You scare him. That’s why he’s trying to intimidate you. The bloody knife. The note. These are his ways of trying to control you.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“I’m not sure.” In the book, the Knight of Lorne had killed criminals to get revenge for his parent’s death. Then, his motive had evolved from revenge to protecting his beloved Elisabeth. It was all a bunch of romantic nonsense in Spencer’s opinion.

Prentiss turns to Spencer. “I doubt there will be any prints left on the knife, but we should get forensics down here anyway.” She steps away, dialing the local police station.

“They’ll want to interview you,” Spencer tells Dr. Banner. “Do you think you can…”

“I can handle it.” Dr. Banner nods. “Me and the other guy have reached an agreement over the past few years.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Good.”

The fourth victim is Jean Frye, a graduate student who was putting herself through school with the help of the oldest profession. That is to say, she was also a very high-end prostitute. Her cell phone is encrypted. She was found in the alley behind a local coffee shop.

By the time that Spencer and Prentiss make it back to the station, the rest of their team--save JJ whose doing damage control with the press--has already been to the crime scene. They are gathered in the conference room with Garcia on speakerphone.

“Miss Frye is very good with computers,” Garcia says. “Luckily for you, I’m better.”

Morgan chuckles. Rossi affectionately shakes his head. Spencer takes an open seat at the table.

“Did you find anything that could help with the investigation?” asks Hotch.

“Other than that her top client was Senator Ward--you know, that asshole from Massachusetts--there isn’t much. She made a few calls to the same number right before she died. It was  a burner, but--get this--the number was entered into her phone as Finn.”

“That’s the name of the Knight of Lorne,” Spencer says.

“Exactly. I’m thinking that the unsub reached out to Jean and asked her to meet him for a coffee.” Garcia sighs. “This poor girl. She was just trying to pay her way through school.”

“Jean Frye signifies a change in the unsub’s victimology,” Prentiss points out. “She’s a woman. The other three victims were males.”

“But she was still engaged in criminal activity,” Rossi says. “So, the unsub lures her into a secluded place without being seen, and, once he has her-”

“He stabs her to death,” Hotch finishes.

“Did you get anything from the security cameras, Baby Girl?”

“Nada. The feed was deleted. But I did run a background check on the roster that Dr. Hicks gave you and bad news, my darlings: only a handful of the students in Hicks’s class have a wrap sheet. Most of them for petty theft or drunken disorderlies. Although, someone named Ian Jacobs stole a Lamborghini from a dealership; it looks like they never pressed charges. Huh.” There’s a pause as Garcia searches for more information. “Turns out they didn’t press charges because his dad bought the Lambo well above market value. Rich kids.”

“Jacobs probably isn’t our unsub,” says Spencer. “The killer identifies with the Knight of Lorne, who’s actually a blacksmith named Finn, so we’re looking for someone from a working-class background.” He leans forward in his chair. “Search for any student on scholarship.”

“Seventy-six,” Garcia says. “Culver is not stingy on the scholarship money.”

“How many of those are full or partial rides?”

“Twenty-three.”

“That’s still too wide a pool,” says Rossi. “Are there any possible stressors, Garcia?”

“Zoe Compton, Tiffany Gregory, and Cassie Good all recently lost family members, but that doesn’t help because they’re female.” She sighs. “Other than that, there’s nothing.”

“Really?” Prentiss asks, clearly surprised.

“Yeah. If you don’t count the Hulk teaching science courses and the murderer on campus, Culver University students are freakishly happy and normal.”

Spencer leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. He listens to the sound of his back popping and reads over the letter from the unsub once more.

“Thanks, Baby Girl-”

“Wait,” Spencer interrupts Morgan. “What if we’ve been going about this the wrong way?”

“What do you mean?” asks Hotch.

“The unsub thinks of himself as the Knight of Lorne. We can see this in both his letter and the way he kills. So far, he’s only killed men who’ve committed crimes and gotten away with them. The Knight of Lorne killed bandits, highwaymen, and assassins.” Spencer takes a deep breath. “In the unsub’s delusion, he paints himself as the Knight of Lorne. The Knight’s whole world revolves around Elisabeth.”

“So, if we find Elisabeth then we’ll be able to figure out who the Knight is,” Prentiss deduces.

“Exactly.”

Morgan nods. “The only problem is: how do we know who Elisabeth is?”

“He probably sent her letters of some sort,” Spencer says. “He would see it as a way of courting her.”

“Garcia, start with the students in Hicks’s class who could match the character.” Hotch turns to Spencer, waiting for his description.

“She’d be wealthy--she’d have to be. She’s of a higher social standing than the unsub. Unlike him, she has friends. She might even be popular or funny.” He thinks, his brain remembering every detail of the Maiden of Lorne. “She was probably raised by a relative--someone other than her parents. It is even possible that she looks like Elisabeth: of average height, pretty, with brown hair or blue eyes…”

The epiphany hits Spencer like a ton of bricks. _It’s Darcy._

When Garcia speaks, it sounds like she’s underwater. “I have three girls: Grace Holman, a senior whose dad’s serving a life sentence: Alison Kennedy, a freshman who was adopted by a literal Kennedy: and Darcy Lewis, a sophomore who was raised by her billionaire grandfather after her dad died in a car crash.”

Morgan’s eyes flick to Spencer when he hears Darcy’s name. Spencer ignores him. There’s a sudden weight in his chest. He feels like he can’t breathe. _Take deep breaths,_ he tells himself as he struggles to keep his breathing in check. The last thing he needs is to have a panic attack.

“I am uploading their addresses to your GPS as we speak.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch hangs up and turns to the team. “There are three possible Elisabeths. We need to split up. Dave, you and Prentiss visit Clara Blake. See if she’s received any unusual letters recently.”

“Reid and I will take Darcy Lewis,” Morgan says. Spencer gapes at him.

Hotch nods. “I’ll take JJ to interview Alison Kennedy. Call me the moment you discover anything.”

The rest of the team takes off towards their cars, but Spencer rooted to the spot. Morgan suddenly materializes beside him, saying softly, “Let’s go.”

Spencer shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “Why’d you do that?”

Morgan shrugs. “She’s your Garcia.” An understanding passes between them. After a moment of silence, they leave the police station behind.

Darcy lives on the first story of an apartment just off of campus. Spencer takes a deep breath, preparing himself to face her before knocking on the door. A second later, the door is opened. Darcy stands before them wearing CU sweatpants and a tank top. She smiles as her eyes meet his. “Hey. I didn’t think…” she trails off when she notices Morgan standing beside him. “This isn’t a social call. Is it?”

Spencer shakes his head. “Do you mind if we come inside?”

“Be my guest.” Darcy steps aside, allowing Spencer and Morgan to enter.

Her appartment is small but comfortable. The kitchen leads into the living room, which leads to a small bedroom. There are no doors except for the one on the bathroom. She’s switched all of the lights off, choosing instead to allow the natural light to illuminate her rooms. There’s a bookshelf in the corner. A laptop sits atop a worn couch. A virtual garden of plants perches on the kitchen windowsill.

Darcy closes the door behind them and picks up a bowl of cereal off of the kitchen table. She turns back to them and begins eating the cheerios. “So,” she says after she swallows a mouthful, “are you going to tell me what this is about or will I have to guess?”

“Of course we’re going to tell you,” Spencer says. “It wouldn’t make sense for us to come all this way just to force you to draw your own conclusions.”

Morgan shakes his head. “What Reid is trying to say, Miss Lewis-”

“Darcy.”

“What?” Spencer doubts that Darcy can tell, but Morgan’s surprised that she cut him off.

“Spencer can tell you, but I had a teacher named Miss Lewis in fifth grade--because, unfortunately, it’s a fairly common last name--and I hated her. I still have nightmares about her class. So, if you would just call me Darcy, that would be great.”

“Right.”

Spencer frowns. Darcy’s banter with Morgan is reminding him of before Alaska. Getting them back on track, Spencer decides that ripping off the bandaid is probably the best idea. “We think that the unsub might have tried to contact you.”

Darcy drops her spoon. It clatters to the floor. “The unsub--you mean the murderer?”

Spencer nods.

“Why would he try to contact me?”

“This unsub suffers from a delusion where he imagines himself as the Knight of Lorne. Because of this, we believe that he has likely found an Elisabeth to obsess over.”

“Have you received any letters since the murders began?” Morgan asks. “They could be love letters or notes of any kind--sticky notes or poems.”

The color drains from Darcy’s face. “Like emails?”

“That would work.”

Setting the empty bowl down on the kitchen table, Darcy sits down on the couch and boots up her laptop. “I started getting these emails at the beginning of the semester.” She pulls up her emails and types _CUNEWS_ into the search bar. A stream of emails pops up. “I thought they were a daily newsletter thing since the email uses the official university domain.” She clicks on one. “They’re all sonnets.”

Spencer leans over her shoulder, focusing intently on the emails. Shakespeare’s _Sonnet 18_ appears on the screen. Underneath the famous poem, it’s signed _The Knight._

His stomach drops. _It’s Darcy._ The unsub is targeting Darcy.

“We should get these to Garcia,” says Morgan. “She’ll be able to find out where they came from.” He opens his phone and hits speed dial. “Hey, Baby Girl. We need you to trace some emails.” Morgan smiles at something Garcia says. “You’re a goddess.” He snaps his phone shut and turns to Spencer. “The emails came from a  computer registered to a Calvin Thornton.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “Calvin?”

Morgan nods. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah. He sits next to me in Hicks’s class. He just lost his scholarship.”

“There’s the stressor.” Morgan starts towards the door. “Garcia is sending the rest of the team over to his house now.”

Spencer doesn’t follow. _I’m going to regret this,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t try to talk himself out of it. “I’m going to stay here. You know, just in case the unsub tries to contact Darcy.”

Morgan’s gaze is knowing. Spencer hates it. “Alright. I’ll call you when this is all over.” He yanks the door open, leaving them behind in Darcy’s apartment.

Silence hangs in the air. Spencer turns to Darcy, who is staring at her laptop with a frown. He should say something--anything.

_When did talking to her become so difficult?_

“I should have said something,” Darcy says. She slowly closes the laptop with a soft click. “If I’d said something, those people would still be alive.”

Spencer wants to reassure her. This isn’t her fault. It can’t be her fault. All that she did was show a classmate kindness. She had no way of knowing of his delusions. But Spencer can’t find the words to tell her this, so he says, “Statistically speaking, Thornton probably would have killed those people whether or not he decided to fixate on you. To him, you were a convenient excuse.”

Darcy glances up at him with a faint smile. “Statistically speaking.” She sighs. “I’ve missed that.”

“Missed what?”

“The statistics,” Darcy answers plainly. “I’m sorry. I never should have pushed you away.”

Spencer shifts awkwardly. He should probably accept her apology and move on with his life, but he wants answers. Curiosity has always been his fatal flaw. “Why did you?”

“I was mad,” Darcy says. “Chris stopped being my friend because of the Josh Fulton thing that night. It was mostly my own fault--I should’ve told her sooner. It was an impossible situation.”

Spencer wants to ask her what she means, but he doesn’t. She’ll get to that part eventually.

“We played truth or dare,” Darcy explains, “and Monica forced me to choose between kissing you and telling Chris the truth. So, after Chris left, I blamed you. It was easier than blaming myself.” Darcy lets out a shaky breath. “That’s why I yelled at you. I thought that you had cost me my first friend. I was mad, and I took it out on you, and it wasn’t right.”

Spencer sits down beside Darcy. Her eyes are damp as she stares at her hands. He wants to reach out and comfort her, but he doesn’t. Things are different now. _Five years is a long time._

“Why didn’t you ever call?”

“I…”

_I don’t want you._

Darcy had known the right words to say to cut him deepest. Spencer knows that he has abandonment issues. He knows that losing his father shaped his world view. He’s spent his entire life getting degrees and catching murderers in an attempt to prove his father wrong--to prove that he should’ve wanted him. When Darcy told him that she didn’t want him to be her family, something inside him broke.

Before Spencer has the chance to answer, the door bursts open, causing both Spencer and Darcy to jump up. Standing in the doorway is a tall young man with pointed features. He clutches a long fencing foil in his left hand. His dark eyes are murderous.

In one swift movement, Spencer pushes Darcy behind him and pulls out his gun, pointing it at Calvin Thornton. “Drop your weapon.”

Calvin’s eyes narrow as he steps inside the apartment. “Lord Griffin, I should have known I would find you here.”

“ _Lord Griffin?_ ”

Spencer wants to turn around to see Darcy’s expression but he doesn’t turn around to look at her. Instead, he settles for the comfortable reassurance of her tight grip on the back of his shirt.

“Drop your weapon, Thornton,” Spencer channels Morgan’s commanding tone into his words.

Calvin stares past Spencer at Darcy and he feels the urge to shoot Calvin for the look in his eyes. It’s predatory. “She’ll never fall for your tricks, Griffin,” he spits.

Darcy huffs. “He’s _not_ Lord Griffin, and I’m not Elisabeth. It’s just a book, Calvin. People don’t run around declaring their unconditional love in the real world.”

“But I love you,” says Calvin.

“No, you don’t.” There’s a note of remorse in Darcy’s voice. “You don’t know me.”

The look of hurt in Calvin’s eyes is pronounced. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

Before Darcy can put herself in further danger by saying anything else, Spencer demands, “Drop the sword.”

To his surprise, Calvin does. The sword clatters to the ground. Spencer rushes forward, tackling Calvin and slapping him in cuffs. As they wait for the police, Calvin turns to Spencer and says, “This isn’t how the story ends. Elisabeth does not love Lord Griffin.”

Spencer couldn’t give a damn about who Elisabeth loves, but to Calvin, Darcy is Elisabeth, and Spencer isn’t about to let Calvin threaten her. “Shut up.”

Thankfully, he does.

The next few hours pass by in a blur of statements and paperwork until Hotch declares that they’ll be leaving first thing in the morning and recommends that they get some rest. Spencer doesn’t even try. He stops by Walmart and buys a taser gun before heading over to Darcy’s apartment.

Even though it’s well past midnight, all of Darcy’s lights are still on. Hesitantly, Spencer knocks on the door, holding his breath until it’s opened by Darcy. Dressed in the same sweats as that morning with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, Darcy looks tired.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he repeats, feeling like an idiot. “Mind if I come in?”

“I dunno,” Darcy says, “You got any more killers who’ve decided to stalk me.”

 _Trust Darcy to try to make what happened today a joke._ Spencer knows that she’s deflecting--denying the reality of the situation because it’s too much. In the past, Spencer would have explained to her exactly what having a stalker means--maybe he’d throw in a few statistics--but he doesn’t. Instead, he glances behind him, making a show of examining the empty parking lot.

“I don’t see anyone,” he says.

Darcy chuckles and lets him inside. _Bones_ is playing on the television as Darcy flops down on the couch, trusting Spencer to lock the door behind them. He does.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks.

Spencer produces the taser from his messenger bag and offers it to her. “I figured you might want something for self-defense. You know, just in case.”

“Thanks.” Darcy’s voice is small as she takes the taser from Spencer and cradles it in her hands. “I called Hank and told him about what happened. I figured he’d find out somehow--it’s better he hear it from me. He’ll be here tomorrow, or, well, today, I guess.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nods.

Darcy rolls her eyes. Reaching out, she grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the couch beside her. She always was a touchy person--the exact opposite of Spencer. “You never told me why you didn’t call,” she says after a moment.

“I…” Spencer doesn’t know what to say, so he decides on the truth. “I was hurt, and I figured most people are better off without me.”

“I’m not most people.”

Darcy holds his gaze. Her stare seems to bore right through him, seeing into the very depths of his soul. Spencer swallows. “You did well without me though. I mean, you look good. You’re different--more confident.”

“So are you.”

Spencer blinks, surprised by Darcy’s comment. “What?”

Darcy shrugs. “You’ve changed, Spencer. You’re a man now.”

Spencer’s so used to being referred to as the kid of the team that he usually forgets that’s he’s twenty-four and not fourteen. He feels like he’s fourteen, with a brain full of facts that are mostly useless. He feels like he’s fourteen as Darcy sits across from him with wisdom beyond her years.

For every year she aged, so did he. _Five years is a long time._

“Thanks for the taser,” Darcy says, dragging him from his thoughts.

“Right. Of course. You’re welcome.”

Darcy chuckles. It feels just like old times.

“I should…” He should leave. He should return to the hotel room and try to sleep before the team leaves tomorrow.

“I can’t sleep,” Darcy says.

 _That makes sense,_ Spencer thinks. After what she’s been through today, fearing the dark is natural. “I could...I could stay with you if you want.” Spencer doesn’t know why he offers, but he tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to return to the hotel room.

Darcy’s face lights up. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.” As if to prove his point, Spencer kicks off his shoes and settles into the cushions.

Grinning, Darcy jumps up from the couch, crossing the small room so that she can turn on the DVD player. “I bought this immediately after it came out,” she says as she places a DVD into the television and presses the play button. “I figured if I ever ran into you again I’d make you watch it.” She joins Spencer on the couch again, taking a seat closer to him. Spencer doesn’t mind.

A smile breaks across his face as the opening suite for the 2005 _Pride and Prejudice_ starts. He’s seen the movie so he remembers every image and every word, but he doesn’t tell Darcy that. Instead, he sits back and watches her watch the film, mouthing along with the words. By the time Mr. Darcy confesses his love to Elizabeth, Darcy is sound asleep. Spencer grabs a blanket from her bedroom and drapes it over her. Soon, Spencer falls asleep too.

He leaves the next morning.

Things never return to the way they were when Spencer and Darcy were kids, but they get better. They meet up once a month to get coffee and talk about their lives, and they text. Boy, do they text. Spencer’s entire phone charge is from texting Darcy, and he eventually breaks down and buys an unlimited plan. It’s not the same as it was. It’s different.

It still feels right.

When Spencer is twenty-five, he stands in the airport, waiting for his plane to board when a book in a nearby shop catches his eye. _The Lord of Lorne_ by Julia Moon and Tony Hicks _._ The cover is nearly identical to the last one. Spencer picks it up and flips through the pages. By the time his plane boards, he’s read the entire book.

The ending makes him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two weeks, but hopefully, this makes up for it. I love all of your comments and am interested to know your thoughts on the chapter. Thanks for reading!


	6. Men in Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month, but I'm back. This chapter took longer to write than expected. Don't worry, I have the rest of the chapters planned out, and it's going to start getting really juicy...just not yet. First, Darcy and Spencer have to figure some things out, and Darcy has to meet the one and only Jane Foster. Anyways...
> 
> Enjoy!

Darcy Lewis is twenty-two years old when she takes what is supposed to be an easy internship. Jane Foster is a smart, innovative scientist who a lot of people think is crazy. Darcy thinks she’s a genius. Not that she’d tell Jane this, of course. It’s Darcy’s job to ground her to reality and telling Jane that she’s a genius would send her mind back to the stars.

Two weeks into her internship, Darcy is sitting across the table from Jane eating a poptart when she realizes that Jane has become one of her favorite people on the planet. For all her nagging and her eye-rolling and her inability to understand pop-culture references, Jane genuinely cares about Darcy.

Darcy can count the number of people who care on one hand.

Jane doesn’t notice Darcy staring--too caught up in tracing a recent series of storms that she’s sure will help with her research. They do, but not in the way that either of them expects. Suddenly, aliens are real, a New Mexico town in nearly razed by a robot-alien-thing, and a mysterious government organization has stolen Darcy’s mp3 player. Oh, and Jane makes out with the hot alien prince who’s also a god.

After Thor is gone, SHIELD forces them to sign multiple nondisclosure agreements and returns all of Jane’s equipment including Darcy’s iPod, which now has the Jonas Brothers’ _Burnin’ Up_ as the most played song. Darcy almost smiles at the mental image of some Kevlar-suited agent listening to Joe’s sweet vocals for six hours on loop.

Several times, Darcy picks up her phone to call Spencer and tell him that she actually met _Thor_ , the god of thunder, but she hangs up before he has the chance to answer. She has no idea what SHIELD would do to him if she told him. They’d probably erase his memories with one of those _Men-in-Black_ -flashy-things or maybe make sure he’s never heard from again like that scary agent dude threatened. Even though they’re not as close as they were before, but she knows that he’d love to hear all about her and Jane’s misadventures.

She settles for the next best thing: talking to Jane. She talks to Jane about everything, and, while Jane doesn’t necessarily listen, she lets her talk. She doesn’t tell her to shut up or leave her alone. She just zones out and focuses on her research.

Jane is tracking a recent series of storms across the globe, keeping an eye out for any mysterious crop circles, when the shrill sound of  Darcy’s ringtone cuts through the silence. Without bothering to glance at the caller ID, she picks it up. The only person who calls her these days is Hank. He’s probably just checking in on the research and making sure that she doesn’t know about her surprise graduation party (Brooke accidentally spilled the beans earlier that week).

“I have absolutely no idea about anything pertaining to graduation.”

The chuckle on the other end of the line doesn’t belong to Hank--it’s Spencer’s. “How’d you find out about Hank’s plans?” he asks.

Darcy leans back, resting her feet up on the table. Jane swats her feet down. Darcy sticks her tongue out at Jane before answering Spencer, “Brooke and I had our once-a-semester-chat on Wednesday. She assumed that I already knew about it and thanked me for the ticket.”

“Of course she did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just--from what I know about her--she was never really one for secrets.”

“You met her once,” Darcy points out, “in ninth grade.”

Spencer sighs. “I concede your point.”

“Good.” Darcy grins. “Now, why are you calling? It isn’t that I don’t love that you are--it’s just that you haven’t called since Halloween, a month and a half ago.”

“I know,” Spencer says, “And I’m sorry for that. Things have been crazy here.”

“Not as crazy as they have been here.”

“What do you mean?”

Darcy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She wishes that she could tell Spencer about everything that happened in November. _Damn SHIELD_. “Nothing. It’s just, you know, science and stuff.”

“You learn anything interesting?”

Darcy glances over to Jane, who sits in front of her equipment, her brow furrowed. Jane had dreamed her entire life about other worlds and realities. Darcy hadn’t even considered them a possibility outside of fiction. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“That’s good.” She can practically picture Spencer nodding on the other end of the line. She wonders if he’s cut his hair, or if it’s still long. She used to always like it long. It was easier to tease him about. “Look, Darcy, the team’s in New Mexico working a case, and we’re supposed to head back tomorrow, but, well, I was wondering if you’d mind my coming to visit you.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “Yeah. No. I mean, yes. That’d be great. There’s so much I want to tell you. I mean...yeah. I’d love to see you.”

“Good.” A pause, and then, “Text me the address. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sounds great.” Darcy hangs up the phone and turns to Jane, who is so absorbed in her research that she doesn’t notice Darcy until she steps between Jane and her equipment

Jane frowns.

Darcy feels a little guilty, but she pushes it aside. “A friend of mine is in town and he’s stopping by tomorrow.”

“He’s in town?” Jane asks, glancing out the windows at the tiny, decimated town beyond them. While money had mysteriously funneled in to help with construction, the repairs were only half-done. There’s secretive half-smile on her lips, and it annoys Darcy to no end.

“Well, he’s in the state.”

“And he decided to stop by?” Jane arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Are you sure he’s _just_ a friend?”

Darcy blushes, which causes her to frown. She and Spencer only recently started regularly talking to each other. Darcy doesn’t want to ruin that by examining every little thing he does--because that’s what Darcy does when she likes a guy. She reads into every little detail and tries to turn it into something it’s not. Spencer’s not...he would never...

“We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say, Lewis.” Jane hums. “But I want to meet him before you give him the grand tour.”

Darcy shakes her head. She almost tells Jane that she doesn’t have to put on the big sister act that she’s so fond of doing, but something stops her. It’s only been a few months, but Jane feels like family in a way that Spencer never did. Maybe it’s because they’re both women, and Darcy hasn’t had a positive role model since Lisa. She doesn’t know.

Darcy huffs. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Good.” A smile tugs at Jane’s lips. “I need to ensure that his intentions are pure.”

“Shut up.” Darcy stomps away before Jane has the chance to respond.

Spencer arrives the next day. He hitch-hikes in on the back of the owner of the local grocery store, Paublo’s, truck. Darcy rolls her eyes. After all the lectures that Spencer gave her about safety and serial killers, he’s the one who decides to hitch-hike his way into town.

“You could’ve gotten a rental,” Darcy says as Spencer hops out of the bed and strolls towards her.

“How much do you think the FBI pays me, Darcy?” Spencer grins as he pauses in front of her. His hair is short this time, but he still looms over her, making it feel, for just a moment, like nothing has changed. It feels good.

“I could’ve paid for it,” Darcy offers. She has money. Too much, in her opinion. She has no idea what to do with it, so she might as well pay for a rental car.

Spencer opens his mouth to refuse (Darcy knows that what he’s going to do--he’s always been too proud to ask for help) when Jane appears in the doorway. She eyes Spencer suspiciously as if he has alternative motives in visiting.

After a minute, she sticks out her hand. “I’m Dr. Jane Foster.”

 _Ooh._ Darcy almost laughs. _She’s trying to be intimidating._ She only uses the doctor card to pull rank on Darcy or intimidate her enemies.

Spencer shakes it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Jane crosses her arms. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Neither do you.”

Darcy glances back and forth between her best friend and the woman who’s practically her sister. Jane grinds her teeth. Spencer’s fingers inch towards the revolver on his hips. The scene before her would look more natural in a western movie than in front of their run-down laboratory.

Darcy groans. “Do we really have to do this? Jane, Spencer has more degrees than you. Spencer, Jane is kind-of dating a god. You’re both smart and fantastic. Now, stop fighting.”

Spencer blushes and smiles sheepishly. He runs a hand through his hair.

Jane chuckles. “I guess we have to  do what Darcy says.”

“Yes, you do,” Darcy agrees, pushing Spencer and Jane into the laboratory.

Spencer turns to Jane. “Did she say that you’re dating a god?”

Jane shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

So, Jane tells Spencer of their life-threatening adventures with Thor. Darcy pulls out pictures halfway through as proof. She wasn’t sure if Spencer would believe them, but by the time that they finish the story, he’s thoroughly convinced.

He turns to Darcy. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“There was a scary man from a government agency who threatened us.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens. “What was his name?”

“What are you going to do? Have your hacker friend track him down?” Darcy shakes her head. “If I’d wanted to do that I would’ve called Brooke.”

“But you’re okay?”

Darcy shrugs. “More or less.”

“Let’s just say that if Darcy or I see another government agent, we’re ready to fight,” says Jane.

Spencer shifts awkwardly. “Um…”

Darcy grins. “You don’t count,” she reassures him.

“And my friends?”

“I guess the hot one seemed cool enough.”

“The hot one? Are you talking about Morgan?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Darcy snarks back. “ _You?_ ”

Spencer chuckles. He runs his fingers through his hair--a nervous tick of his that Darcy has always been able to spot a mile away. “I guess not.”

Darcy doesn’t tell Spencer that his buddy Morgan isn’t her type. Not. At. All. Yeah, he is hot the same way that Thor is hot--as in, totally undeniable to anyone with eyes--but Darcy has never gone for jocks. Aside from that one time, she dated Josh Fulton, and even he was smarter than he appeared. Every boyfriend she’d had since then (which amounted to a grand total of two) had been skinny and smart. Both of those guys had been before the Knight of Lorne incident.

She hasn’t dated anyone since.

It’s hard to trust people when you know that a murderer used you as a muse.

“Are you okay?”

Darcy glances up to find Spencer staring down at her, concern etched on his face. She swallows and plasters on a smile. “Yeah. I’m super. Here, follow me. I’ll show you around the place.” Spencer doesn’t say anything as she begins to show him around what’s left of Jane’s New Mexico lab, but she can feel his eyes watching, cataloging her every move with that eidetic memory of his.

In the end, Spencer gets along with Jane just as Darcy anticipated. She’s glad that they do. She couldn’t imagine her two favorite people being at odds.

The third and final day that Spencer’s there, Darcy wakes up to find him sharing a pot of coffee with Jane, laughing as if they are the oldest of friends. She stands in the doorway watching Spencer and Jane debate a recent scientific breakthrough by Dr. Banner, who has pretty much dropped off of the face of the earth since publishing his discovery.

“I’ll have you know that I met him.” Spencer leans back in his chair and takes a sip of coffee. Darcy’s eyes flick to the nearly empty sugar bowl beside him. She can’t help but smile.

“Really?” Jane asks, clearly surprised. “I nearly met him once. He was supposed to be at a conference I was attending but canceled last minute due to Hulk-related problems. How did you meet him?”

“We were working a case on the CU campus.”

Jane nods. “The Knight of Lorne. Darcy got super drunk one night and told me about it.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Really? That’s...I guess she really cares about you.”

Darcy shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. Part of her feels like she should step into the light and let them know that she’s listening, but another part wants to hear what they have to say about her. She’s never heard what Spencer really thinks of her before. The selfish evesdropping part wins out over the good one.

Maybe that should shock Darcy more than it does.

“She’s like the annoying little sister I never had.” Jane grins. She stirs her coffee. “But you get that.” Jane pauses for a moment as she studies Spencer. “Or maybe you don’t.”

Spencer pauses. “There are some things that are hard for me to explain. Darcy is one of them.”

“Ah.”

 _What’s that supposed to mean?_ Darcy wonders. Jane makes out with a god and suddenly she’s a relationship guru? The thought is almost laughable. Darcy is much better with people than Jane will ever be.

There is a lull in the conversation after that. Darcy sighs and peels away from the doorways. She strolls into the kitchen and takes Spencer’s coffee from him. Plopping down between the two doctors, she starts drinking it: more sugar than coffee--the Spencer Reid way.

Jane and Spencer share a look, which annoys Darcy. She’s the commonality between these two people. They shouldn’t already be best friends. It occurs to Darcy then that Spencer and Jane would make a good couple. They’re both smart, and witty, and can talk about academic stuff that drives Darcy crazy for hours. They both miss pop culture references--although Jane does so more often than Spencer. _Hell, anyone with eyes could see what a good couple they’d make_.

For some reason, that bothers Darcy.

At that moment, Darcy is sure that she never wants Spencer Reid to date Jane Foster. It would throw her world off-balance.

Dismissing the unpleasant thought of her two best friends dating each other, Darcy asks, “What were you guys talking about?”

They both scramble for answers. Neither one of them is the truth. Jane is a terrible liar, but Darcy almost believes Spencer’s lie. He’s better at it than she ever gave him credit for.

Spencer leaves and Jane declares that she likes him, which shouldn’t bother Darcy as much as it does. After all, Jane is still hung up over Thor. It’s not like anything is going to happen between them. Ever.

Why then does it bother her so much?

In December, Darcy walks across the stage at Culver University and receives her diploma. Hank is there to hug her and tell her how proud he is of her. Spencer, and Jane, and Brooke, and Anna, and a handful of Darcy’s college friends come to an after party that Hank definitely hired someone else to plan--if the lack of hunting rifles are anything to go by.

“I see that Spencer’s still looking fine,” Brooke says as she and Darcy lean up against the open bar, nursing glasses of champagne.

Darcy’s mouth drops. “Brooke!”

“What?” Brooke exclaims. “I’m lesbian, not blind, and all I’m saying is that Spencer’s your type.”

Darcy freezes. Her and Spencer? No. That..it isn’t...the thought is unsettling. Across the room, she watches Spencer talk to Hank and Jane. They seem to be having a good time.

“I don’t think…” Darcy trails off, unsure of how to finish her thought.

“Monica thought you liked him,” Brooke says. “I think that’s part of the reason she made all of those comments at the birthday party.”

“I didn’t. I still don’t. Not in that way.”

Brooke shrugs. “Whatever you say, Darce. I just want to see you as happy as I am.” Yes, because Brooke has a girlfriend. Darcy has yet to meet this America character that Brooke keeps raving on and on about, but she’s sure that she’ll like her.

But, hey, they just graduated from college. Nobody finds their true love at twenty-two.

Darcy doesn’t expect to…

As she watched Spencer, he turns towards her and meets her gaze. He waves and offers her a small smile. Darcy smiles back.

Brooke isn’t…

It just doesn’t…

_Her and Spencer?_

That’s impossible. Right?

Darcy Lewis is twenty-three years old when she moves into a small DC apartment with Anna. After spending a couple of freezing months with Hank in Alaska, Darcy has gotten a job on the Hill. She’s working in public relations for a young upstart named Jamie Vasquez. Anna is working for a super-secret suit-wearing organization--it’s SHIELD--she’s working for SHIELD.

They are struggling to carry Darcy’s couch up the second flight of stairs between the two of them, and Darcy is seriously starting to regret turning down Spencer’s offer to help her move in. _You wanted to do this by yourself,_ she reminds herself. _You wanted to be independent._

Right now, independent is highly overrated.

If only Thor were back on earth and had offered to help her move. She wouldn’t have turned his offer down.

“You two look like you need some help.”

Anna smiles politely and sets down her end of the couch, which causes Darcy to drop the side she’s carrying. Standing on the landing ahead of them is a blonde woman with glasses. She’s dressed for a date and watches them with a concerned expression.

“Thank you for the offer, Miss Garcia,” Anna starts, “but we’ve got this handled.”

Darcy shakes her head. “We haven’t ‘got this handled.’ I don’t suppose you’re super-strong, Miss Garcia? That would make this a lot easier.”

“Miss Garcia.” The blonde shakes her head. “Please, call me Penelope.”

“We don’t want to hold you up,” Anna says. Darcy shakes her head. She’s far too polite for a SHIELD agent. She thought they taught Asshole 101 at their academies.

“Nonsense.” Penelope waves her hand. “Kevin can wait.” She tugs off her heels and tosses them to the side with her purse. She descends the stairs and grabs the middle of the couch. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

Together, they manage to lift the couch the final flight of stairs and into Darcy and Anna’s apartment. It’s starting to look like a home. Darcy’s moved her plants inside and they brighten up the place. Unfortunately, their landlord won’t let them paint the walls, but Anna curtains that her mom sewed hanging. It was the only decorative element in the entire apartment when Darcy first moved in. Apparently, interior design is not required SHIELD training.

“This place is starting to look cute,” Penelope says. She turns to Darcy. “I suppose that I have you to thank for that. The last time that I visited Anna’s place, it rivaled some of my bachelor friend’s places.”

“It wasn’t that bad, “ Anna protests. “I have curtains.”

“But you didn’t have any pictures or knickknacks.”

Penelope moves to one of Darcy’s half-unpacked boxes and pulls out a picture. It’s of a boy and a girl, both of them dressed for a wedding. The boy tells the girl a story. _It is a truth universally acknowledged._ Normally, Darcy would be irritated with Penelope digging through her stuff, but the other woman seems so genuinely nice that she can’t be mad.

“Is this your brother?”

Darcy shakes her head. “He’s more of a best friend. I’m Darcy, by the way.”

Penelope smiles. “Like Mr. Darcy. God, I always loved that book.”

“It was my mom’s favorite,” says Darcy. It was one of her favorites too, if only because it was one of the only connections she had to her dead mother. The rest of the books she enjoyed tended to be crime novels, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

“It’s nice to meet you, Darcy,” Penelope says. “If you need anything, feel free to stop by.”

“I will.”

With a smile and a wave, Penelope Garcia disappears down the stairwell. Darcy decides that she likes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please tell me what you think and leave kudos if you like the story.


	7. I Won't Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! I've not about to forget this fic. I have huge plans for this story. Besides, things are just getting interesting.
> 
> If you like BYMBF, make sure to check out my other Spencer/Darcy fic, Weasay Abbey. I have so many more Spencer/Darcy fics in my WIP folder including but not limited to: Darcy is Rossi's stepdaughter, Spencer and Darcy pose as a newly engaged couple for investigation reasons, and A Discovery of Witches but with a Spencer/Darcy twist. I'm not saying that all of these will be posted, but keep your eyes peeled.
> 
> Anyways, remember to ignore most of the cannon.
> 
> Enjoy!

Spencer is twenty-eight years old and feels like sometimes all he ever does is work. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his job. It’s always been his dream to catch murderers, but it takes a certain toll. He’s always in the office, on a plane, or sleeping. Which is fine--mostly. Over the past few years, the team has become his family. He loves Derek like a brother. Penelope and JJ might as well be sisters.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind spending another evening flying across the country with them, having just put a murderer behind bars. Normally, he’d be celebrating and sleeping. Rossi would pass around a flask of whiskey and they’d all toast to their victory. Normally, Spencer would enjoy the flight back. 

But, today is Thanksgiving, and he promised Darcy that he’d make it home. 

It was a stupid promise to make. His work takes him all over the country on such short notice that there’s no way he can guarantee that he’ll be available. And Darcy knows that. She  _ knows  _ that his work is important--and she’d be understanding when Spencer explains why he missed it. Hank wouldn’t be--but she would. 

Maybe that’s why he promised her in the first place. With her move to DC, Spencer had stupidly thought that they would have more time to hang out. The opposite is true. It seems like every time he is finally available, she has to work. They’d only managed to meet up a handful of times. Spencer hasn’t even stepped foot in her apartment yet, although she’d crashed at his once because Anna was having friends over. 

When they met up for one of their rare lunch meetings, and Darcy had told him that Hank was flying in for Thanksgiving, Spencer had agreed to come. More than agreed, he’d promised, and Darcy’s face lit up. A good old fashioned Thanksgiving, she’d called it, with only Hank, Spencer, and Darcy. Spencer would be lying to say he wasn’t looking forward to it. The event had been in his planner for months. 

And now he is missing it. 

_ Classic Spencer. _

In the seat across from him, Morgan chats with Garcia. A smile tugs at the handsome man’s lips--a smile he reserves solely for Penelope. Not that Derek would admit to it, though. Despite Spencer’s best efforts otherwise, Derek has placed himself firmly in the Penelope-is-too-smart-to-ever-go-for-someone- like-me-even-though-I-have-the-body-of-a-god-so-we-should-just-be-friends-because-I’m-an-idiot zone. At least, that’s what Spencer thinks Darcy would call it if she were here. She’s always had a unique way with words. 

Morgan catches Spencer staring and arches an eyebrow. A second later, his attention is pulled back to the screen and he grins. He shifts the laptop so that Spencer can see it. It’s Spencer’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Garcia wants to talk to you,” Morgan offers as an explanation.

“Me? Why?”

As an answer, Morgan pulls out the headphones, and suddenly, Garcia’s voice echos through the space between them. “How’re you holding up, kiddo?”

Spencer could tell her that he’s upset because he’s currently missing spending Thanksgiving with one of the only people who has ever accepted all of his quirks. He could tell her that he’s mentally berating himself for promising Darcy he’d be there in the first place. He could tell her that he is dreading the frown on Hank’s face when he shows up a day late (Hank never forgave him for leaving, even though he didn’t know the whole story). He could tell Penelope any of those things, but he doesn’t.

Derek is the only one on the team who knows Darcy as anything other than a victim of the Knight of Lorne, but he never mentions her. Occasionally, he’ll get a knowing glisten in his eye, or smile smugly when Spencer says something that sounds like Darcy. But he never says anything, and, for that, Spencer is grateful. 

For reasons he doesn’t want to think about, Spencer doesn’t tell Penelope about Darcy. She may be fighting gods and facing mysterious government organizations, but Darcy doesn’t belong in their world. She’s too good for it. It’s ruined Spencer, and he doesn’t want it to ruin her. He doesn’t want her to look at him differently--to know that he’s killed men--to know he’s shot a needle into his arm to forget. He doesn’t want to stop being the Spencer that was always there for her--the one she sees even now--not this intelligent, broken creature who works for the BAU. He doesn’t want to be broken to her.

So, he lies.

“I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say.” It’s easy to discern from Penelope’s tone that she doesn’t believe him. Thankfully, she changes the subject. “So, Spence, how long before you resume the dating game?”

Spencer blinks. “I’m sorry. What?” Of all of the things he expected the technical analyst to say, that was not one of them.

“Not that you’ve been big into dating in the first place.” Penelope grins. “I was just wondering--you know--for reasons.”

Derek chuckles. “Baby girl, where are you going with this?”

“There’s a woman in my building who I think would be perfect for Spencer. You are into women, right?”

“Yes.” 

Despite what some people seem to believe, Spencer does--occasionally--find himself attracted to women. It didn’t happen often--in this line of work, you eventually stop seeing people as people and start looking at them as suspects--but it does happen. Although, he can’t remember the last time he’d had a serious girlfriend. Was it Sarah? Was it really that long ago? No. There’d been people inbetween. There had to be. 

“Anyways, believe me, Spencer, when I say that she would be perfect for you. Her name is Darcy.” 

Spencer freezes. Of all of the apartments in all of DC, Darcy had to live in Penelope’s.

“Like Mr. Darcy. How cute is that? She’s extremely intelligent, and a little odd--like you. Not in a bad way, though.” 

As Penelope keeps rambling, Derek’s gaze remains locked on Spencer. He has a knowing look on his face. Spencer wonders what it is he thinks he knows. Just because Spencer doesn’t want Darcy to see the side of him that the team sometimes does…

“What’s her last name?”

“Why? Is that something you need to know before a date?” Penelope pauses in thought. “I’m actually not sure.”

“Is her roommate named Anna?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“She’s my ex-step-sister.” It doesn’t feel like a good explanation. It never feels like a good explanation. What he and Darcy are can’t be put into words. They are Spencer and Darcy. They’d known each other for so long--been through so much--that it is almost impossible for anyone else to understand. 

“Oh. So, you’ve-”

“Known her since I was ten?” Spencer nods. “Yes.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. I don’t think I’ve known any of my friends that long.” A beat before Penelope says, “So, there’s no way that you and her…”

Spencer blanches. He has never thought of Darcy that way. Never. In the beginning, Darcy had the label of stepsister, and then a friend. Now, she’s in a category all of her own. She’s Darcy. It’s the only way he’s really known to categorize her these past few years. At first she was his step-sister, then she was his best friend. Now, she’s Darcy. Brilliant, fantastic, hilarious Darcy. He wonders what it means that he can’t find the words. He decides not to focus on it.

Instead, Spencer makes an off-handed remark. Penelope and Derek resume their witty banter. The flight lands four hours later. It’s Friday. Spencer has officially missed Thanksgiving. He texts Darcy and apologizes. Then, he goes home and sleeps. The minute his head hits his pillow he’s out like a light. 

The next morning, he awakes to a pounding on his front door. Rolling out of bed, Spencer trudges across the room and yanks it open. It probably isn’t the smartest idea, but Spencer decides that if a serial killer wants to kill him at 7:30 on Black Friday, then they can. 

It’s not a serial killer. 

It’s Darcy.

Spencer peers at her through bleary eyes. She’s dressed in a sweater and boots, her glasses slightly fogged from the chill in the air. It’s raining outside. In her hand is a reusable bag. 

“What are you doing here?” Spencer asks as she strolls past him, not bothering to wait for him to invite her in. He’s still wearing his shirt from the day before, but he miraculously managed to pull on a pair of pajama pants before falling asleep. Whatever Darcy has planned, he’s not ready or in the mood for it.

“You missed Thanksgiving,” Darcy answers as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah. I know. I apologized.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “You sent five words over text, Spence. That hardly counts.” She places her bag on his kitchen counter and starts pulling out tupperware. “I brought you leftovers. Hank made his world-famous brisket.”

Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, Spencer arches an eyebrow. “You ate brisket for Thanksgiving?”

Darcy shrugs. “Turkey is overrated.” She opens Spencer’s fridge and begins stuffing the tupperware inside. “Honestly, Spence, you’re worse than Jane. When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“I don’t know. How long ago did we catch Kim Bray?” He does the math in his head. “A little over a month ago.”

“You can’t live off of takeout, Spencer. I’m the one who’s supposed to be the bad cook.” Darcy slams the fridge shut and turns to Spencer. The look in her eyes makes his pulse race. It’s mischievous. 

Spencer swallows his nerves. This is nothing new. Darcy has always had a mischievous side to her. But, for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, the look in her clear blue eyes makes his heart stutter. _ It’s stupid _ , Spencer tells himself. Undoubtedly, this is some hormonal response brought on by a lack of sleep and missing Thanksgiving. That has to be it, because the alternative…

“You okay?”

Spencer shakes himself out of his thoughts. “What? Yes. I’m fine.”

“Good. Now, put some clothes on. It’s Black Friday and we’re going shopping.”

Spencer gapes at Darcy. “What? Why?”

“What? Just because I’m an heiress doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good deal. Now, let's move it, Smartypants. I promised Hank we’d meet him and Anna by eight.” 

Spencer knows better than to argue with Darcy, so he gives in. He follows her orders. They meet Hank and Anna, the former who glares at him for missing Thanksgiving. Spencer does his best to ignore Hank’s menacing glare. He almost succeeds.

The weeks pass. He and Darcy hang out once or twice a month. She has a standing movie night with Anna that he starts crashing. Anna doesn’t seem to mind. She invites a couple of her friends from work, and, before Spencer knows it, he and Darcy are surrounded by SHIELD agents. He’s never been a fan of SHIELD, but Anna’s friends aren’t that bad. There’s a Scottish engineer named Fitz that he gets along with quite well. Darcy teases him that it’s a match made in heaven. 

He continues to catch serial killers. Work is hard but rewarding. Spencer can’t imagine being anywhere else. For a few short months, Spencer’s life is as close to perfect as it has been in years.

Spencer finally realizes it on Christmas.

The team celebrated the holiday a week earlier before breaking up to spend time with their respective families. Just down the hall, Penelope is celebrating with Kevin, but Spencer doesn’t think about them now. He’s sitting in Darcy’s living room, enjoying a cup of eggnog with Darcy’s high school friends. Brooke flew in with her girlfriend, America, a few days earlier, which means that Spencer hasn’t seen Darcy since Hanukkah. He’s missed her, he realizes. Really missed her. 

Darcy is breaking apart cookie dough in the kitchen, laughing at something that Brooke says. Beside him, Anna and America are debating the upcoming election, but Spencer can’t pull his attention away from Darcy. Her head is thrown back. Her eyes twinkle. She’s beautiful. 

And that’s when Spencer realizes it.

The words he can’t find to describe Darcy--the feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he looks at her--the knowing look Derek sends his way--the way that he wants to keep her separate from the darkest parts of himself. All of those things crash down upon him in one big, drastic realization. 

He’s in love with her. 

Spencer Reid is in love with Darcy Lewis. He has been for some time. 

The eggnog slips through his fingers, splashing all over the carpet. A few seconds later, Brooke throws a towel his way. It lands in his lap.

He’s in love with Darcy.

_ What the hell is he supposed to do about that? _

_ Nothing _ , Spencer decides. 

After all, this is Darcy. He’s known her for eighteen years. Whatever he’s feeling is probably a passing feeling--a way to justify how close they are. Love will pass. It always does. He’s seen it a million times. Love. Infatuation. It’s mostly just chemical responses brought on by the need to procreate. Spencer doesn’t want to ruin what he has with Darcy just because of some hormones. He’ll move on, he decides. The best course of action for the moment is to ignore whatever he thinks he’s feeling. 

Spencer grabs the towel and starts dabbing up the eggnog. 

He’s hyper-aware of Darcy’s arms around him at the end of the night. It’s a short hug. Darcy knows he doesn’t like other people touching him. But he’s never seemed to mind  _ her.  _ Never.

He will move on. He has to.

The months pass. Things stay the same between them. Which is good, Spencer decides. He doesn’t want things to change. The snow melts. Psychos keep on killing. Winter changes into spring. Everything else remains the same--a constant. Spencer’s heart doesn’t stop thumping in his chest when Darcy hugs him. He wonders if she can hear it. 

He’s in DC when the attack on New York happens. Thankfully, so is Darcy. But Hank’s not.

For reasons neither of them really know, Hank is in New York when aliens decide to invade. After the fog clears and the wormhole closes, Spencer gets a call. For some reason, Hank Levin has listed Spencer as his emergency contact instead of Darcy. He finds out when he arrives at the hospital. 

“The doctors say you have stage four lung cancer, Hank.” Spencer stares down at the old man in the hospital bed. His arm is broken from when he saved a boy from a falling building. Other than that--and the cancer--he seems perfectly fine. 

“I know.”

Spencer blinks. “You know?”

Hank nods. “Why else would I list you as my emergency contact instead of Darcy? I don’t want her knowing. She’ll try to save me--try to get me to stay and try chemo. That ain’t me. Alaska’s where I belong. It’s where I’ve always belonged. The mountains are calling and I must go.”

“Who said that?”

“Hell if I know.” Hank shrugs. “I read it on a t-shirt.” 

There’s nothing Spencer can say to that. Hank Levin is a rough man. He was never meant for big cities and politics. He’s meant to be the local cryptid of Valdez--the man with millions. But Darcy will never forgive him if he doesn’t at least try to convince Hank to stay stateside and attempt treatment. 

“You know that thirty-three percent of lung cancer-”

“Don’t bother, String Bean.” Hank chuckles. “I’m an old man who's lived a good life. I’ve loved a woman. I’ve raised a daughter and granddaughter. I've fought in a war. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve made my fortune. I’ve lived in the most beautiful place on the planet. And I’ve met you, Brainiac. I’ve made my peace with dying.

“I've got a couple of regrets. I’d have liked to be there to hand Darcy away at her wedding, but her dad would’ve liked to be there too. We can’t control God’s plan. Besides, I know you’ll be there for her. She’ll always have you, one way or another.” There’s a note in Hank’s voice like he knows. 

Spencer’s jaw drops. His face flushes. “Oh. I’m not...I mean...It’s not like I-”

“Not like you what?” Hank grins. He’s always liked getting under Spencer’s skin. “It’s not like it was when she was thirteen, I’ll tell you that. Back then, the two of you were thick as thieves--you still are--but five years is a long time. I knew it the moment she called me after that twisted Knight of Lorne fella. She said, ‘Gramps, I ran into Spencer again today,’ and I knew. You and her. It’s one of those things that’s always meant to be.”

Spencer doesn’t know how to respond, so he stays silent.

“I’m ready to die, kid. Don’t take that away from me.”

Spencer sits at the end of Hank’s bed. He wants to call Darcy. He wants to tell her to get to New York because Hank is dying. He wants her to know the truth--he can’t lie to her. And yet, he doesn’t want her to cry. She’s known so much pain and loss in her life. If he knew how to cure Hank he would. But he doesn’t, and Hank doesn’t want Darcy to know. 

“This is my dying wish, Spencer. I don’t want Darcy to see me as an old man. Don’t let me die in a hospital room.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens. His mind made up, he turns to Hank. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.” Spencer nods sharply. He stands and leaves. Hank Levin flies back to Alaska. 

Three days later, Spencer nearly breaks down Darcy’s door from his knocking. It’s nearly five in the morning, and she opens the door, obviously annoyed. She’s wearing pajamas and her hair is messy. To Spencer, she’s never looked better. 

“Pack your bags. We’re going to Valdez,” Spencer says, strolling inside without waiting for her to invite him in.

Darcy stares at him as if he’s lost his mind. “What?”

“Rossi’s at an international crime convention--yes, they have those--so, I’ve got the next week off of work. I was thinking that this would be the perfect opportunity to really see Valdez.”

Darcy blinks. “But I’ve got work.”

“I know. That’s why I called your boss and explained your--our--situation to him. Don’t worry. He completely understands.”

“ _ Our  _ situation?”

Spencer freezes. His plan was not foolproof in any way, shape, or form. Mostly, it relied on Darcy being too tired to ask questions, which she obviously wasn’t. “Yeah.” He pauses, completely at a loss for words. “I’ve always wanted to visit Alaska in July. You know, they say it’s a great time to watch the bears.”

“There aren’t any bears in Valdez,” Darcy says, “I mean, there are--it’s Alaska, but if you wanted to go bear watching we’d go to Kodiak or Katmai.” Her eyes narrow. “What’s the real reason you’ve suddenly decided to take a vacation?”

“I like the outdoors?” Even to Spencer’s own ears, it sounds like a bad excuse. While he’s never hated the outdoors, he’s never had any true passion for it either. Darcy snorts in response. Spencer sighs. “Look, Darcy, with all the chaotic things happening in the world, I just want to go somewhere simple without aliens or spaceships or superheroes. Isn’t that a good enough reason? I’ve already bought the tickets.”

For a moment, Spencer thinks that Darcy will refuse him. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Right now, he sounds like a mad man--rambling on in an attempt to uphold Hank’s wishes and still get Darcy to spend some quality time with her grandfather before he dies. To his surprise, she nods. “Okay. If you’ve bought the tickets, we might as well go.”

A grin breaks across Spencer’s face. The flight to Alaska is long--first from DC to Seattle, then from Seattle to Anchorage, then from Anchorage to Valdez in a tiny little air taxi. Darcy doesn’t comment about Spencer’s spur-of-the-moment idea. She talks about work and Jane’s recent invitation to join her in London. She doesn’t know if she’ll accept it. The part of Spencer that’s selfish doesn’t want her to, but he pushes those feelings aside. 

“It sounds like a great opportunity,” he says. 

Darcy stares at him, a knowing look in her eyes, and nods. “I guess it is.”

Hank meets them at the airstrip. The three of them slide into his truck and drive to his cabin. It’s changed since the last time Spencer visited nearly eight years ago. There are a lot more pictures of Darcy around the house. The house has wifi, presumably from when Darcy lived there in her high school years. Hank makes a snarky comment about technology as Darcy sets up her laptop. Darcy rolled her eyes, meets Spencer’s understanding gaze, and chuckles.

They stay in Valdez for a week and a half. There’s not much sightseeing to do in the small city. Just a lot of feral bunnies. For the most part, they spend time together. Hank takes them out fishing, which Darcy is great at and Spencer despises. Catching fish is nothing like catching killers. Darcy laughs at his irritation, and it makes every hour on Hank’s boat worth it.

During the evenings, they read. Hank doesn’t have a television, but he has a lot of books--many of which Spencer has never read before. Apparently, it’s tradition in the Levin-Lewis household to read after dinner. The first night, Darcy tosses a book at him that she apparently  _ loved  _ during high school, Shannon Hale novel that Spencer’s never read because it has nothing to do with math, or science, or facts. Just romance.  _ Austenland _ , it’s called. In Spencer’s opinion, it’s not half bad.

Cruise ships come into port every once in a while. Spencer goes down to the harbor to watch the tourists who pile off of them, providing Darcy and Hank with chances to be alone. He knows that Hank appreciates them, even if the old man refuses to say a word of thanks, or tell Darcy about his diagnosis.

The day before they leave, Spencer goes down to the docks. He leans against a pillar and watches a female sea otter swim in between the boats. She blows air into her pup’s fur, leaving him floating on the surface while she dives down to search for food. The pup chirps, calling its mother back. Spencer watches it all with a smile.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Spencer jumps at the sound of Darcy’s voice. He turns to the woman as she comes to a stop beside him. She watches as the mother picks up her pup in her arms. “You stop noticing them after a while. I guess even the most beautiful places can become boring.”

“And Valdez is boring?”

Darcy chuckles. “It certainly was in high school--especially in the winter. There’s not much to do around here when everything’s covered in feet of snow. Tourist season’s not that bad, but all of us used to work jobs.” She points to a small diner past the docks. “I worked there the summers of tenth to twelfth grade. Made seven bucks an hour. It was pretty fun.”

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asks. He never got a true high school experience. Sure, he was bullied plenty, but he graduated by the time he was twelve. He never went to prom or homecoming or high school sports games. He spent all of his time at home and in the library.

“High school?” Darcy shakes her head. “No. Navigating social situations like those were hell. But I miss not worrying about things--not knowing that aliens exist.” 

She pauses for a moment. The silence lingers in the air between them. It’s natural. It’s always been natural. Things are rarely awkward between them, even with Spencer feeling as he does. He can’t let things get awkward. He cares about Darcy too much.

“I took the London job.”

The air leaves Spencer’s lungs. “Oh.” He swallows. “That’s good.” Because it is good. Darcy is smart. She’s being wasted in politics. Besides, Jane adores Darcy, even though she pretends not to. There’s nothing to worry about. 

That doesn’t stop Spencer’s heart from aching. 

“It is,” Darcy agrees, “My current boss’s nice, but I could feel myself getting on his nerves. Besides, Jane understands.”

“Jane understands what?”

Darcy takes a deep breath. “Hank’s dying.” She doesn’t look at Spencer as she says this. “It isn’t that hard to see. He pretends that he’s fine, but he’s not. And you knew. That’s why you dragged me up here.”

Spencer nods. “I’ll understand if you’re angry at me for not telling you.”

Darcy shakes her head. “I’m not. I probably should be. We don’t do secrets.”

_ Yes, we do _ , Spencer thinks.

“Hank just wants to die in Valdez, and I’m going to be there for him. I quit my job. I’m going to stay here for the rest of the summer.” Her gaze is apologetic as she adds, “I need to. He’s the only family I’ve got left.”

“I understand,” Spencer says, because he does. Darcy leans her head on her shoulder. They don’t say anything--they don’t have to. 

The next day, Spencer leaves by himself. The seat next to him is empty.

He returns to his life but something feels off. He’s gotten so used to having Darcy living nearby. He can’t stop by her apartment after work anymore. He doesn’t go to movie nights with SHIELD agent. It feels wrong.

Hank dies in early October.

They bury Hank in the woods. His funeral is attended by a handful of close friends and family. It’s not big or fancy. It’s exactly what Hank would have wanted. Spencer stands on Darcy’s right, her fingers threaded through his in a way that makes his heart race. Anna and Brooke stand on Darcy’s left. Brooke keeps sending him knowing glances. Spencer wonders if everyone knows. 

Everyone except for Darcy. 

Thank goodness for the small mercies.

They plant a tree instead of a headstone. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer notices a man in a fine tailored suit. His goatee alone is enough to recognize him. Even David Rossi would be envious of such famous facial hair. The man lingers when the mourners start to leave. Spencer excuses himself from Darcy’s side. Anna and Brooke rush to fill the space he leaves.

Spencer approaches the man who stares at the tree they planted for Hank. “You’re Tony Stark,” he says because he can’t think of anything else to say. 

“I am.” Tony turns his calculating gaze upon him. Spencer feels like he’s being sized up, examined from all angles like a machine. “You’re Spencer Reid.”

Spencer gapes. “How do you know who I am?”

“Hank talked about you occasionally. Told me I should try to hire you. Said he was glad you’d be there for her after he passed. That stubborn idiot refused to let me treat him.” Tony hums. “I guess he had his reasons in the end.”

“How did you know Hank?” Spencer asks. It’s been the million-dollar question for so many years. How did Hank Levin make his millions? How did he befriend Howard Stark? Why did Hank Levin suddenly return home with a daughter? What happened in the sixties?

Tony smiles secretively. “I don’t think he’d like me telling you.” With that, he turns around, heading towards Valdez and his jet. A small part of Spencer wants to race after him--to demand answers. He’s never been good with letting go of mysteries. But Darcy needs him. Darcy needs him, and, for her, he’ll let Hank Levin remain a mystery.

Spencer watches Tony Stark leave.

That night, after the mourners have returned to their homes, only Spencer and Darcy are left in the cabin. It feels different, as if Hank brought life into the wooden walls. Spencer glances around at the foreign pictures of Darcy from a time he missed. This place doesn’t feel like home for him, and he knows that it doesn’t feel that way for Darcy.

He pours two cups of tea and brings them into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table. He takes a seat beside Darcy, leaving a space between the two of them. 

“It feels like everyone keeps dying on me,” Darcy says. “First my mom, then my dad, now Hank. Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed.” Darcy smiles as Spencer opens his mouth, a careful correction on his lips. “This is the part where you tell me that there’s no such thing as curses and that living my life with a positive outlook will increase my chances of happiness.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Really?” Darcy arches an eyebrow. It’s good to see her smile. Spencer doesn’t think she cried this much at her dad’s funeral. 

“Yes. Really. I was going to say that everyone doesn’t die on you.” Spencer takes a deep breath. “I won’t die on you.” 

It’s a promise he can’t make--not in his line of work--and they both know it. But Darcy doesn’t say anything. Instead, she picks up her tea and shifts on the couch so that she’s leaning against Spencer’s chest. He wonders if she can hear how fast his heart is pounding. What does she think is the cause? 

“Is that a promise?”

Spencer nods. “Yes.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Darcy sips her tea. 

They sit together in perfect harmony--hearts beating in synch. And, for a moment, everything feels right. Even though Hank is dead, and Darcy is leaving, everything feels right. Spencer wonders if that makes him crazy. 

One month later, Darcy moves to London.

What happens in London changes everything. For better and for worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think of the new chapter. Things are about to get interesting. Don't forget to leave kudos if you like the work.


End file.
